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Throughout all time, unwearied, keepest
Thy watch of Glory, Pow'r, and Love.
Grant that, beneath thine eye, securely,

Our souls, awhile from life withdrawn,
May, in their darkness, stilly, purely,

Like "sealed fountains," rest till dawn.

WHERE IS YOUR DWELLING, YE SAINTED?

(AIR. HASSE.)

WHERE is your dwelling, ye Sainted?

Through what Elysium more bright

Than fancy or hope ever painted,
Walk ye in glory and light?
Who the same kingdom inherits?
Breathes there a soul that may

Look to that world of Spirits,

dare

Or hope to dwell with you there?

Sages! who, ev'n in exploring

Nature through all her bright ways,

Went, like the Seraphs, adoring,

And veil'd your eyes in the blaze
Martyrs! who left for our reaping

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Sinners! whom long years of weeping

Chasten'd from evil to good

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Maidens who, like the young Crescent,
Turning away your pale brows
From earth, and the light of the Present,
Look'd to your Heavenly Spouse-
Say, through what region enchanted
Walk ye, in Heaven's sweet air?
Say, to what spirits 'tis granted,

Bright souls, to dwell with you there?

HOW LIGHTLY MOUNTS THE MUSE'S WING.

(AIR.-ANONYMOUS.)

How lightly mounts the Muse's wing,
Whose theme is in the skies

Like morning larks, that sweeter sing
The nearer Heav'n they rise.

Though Love his magic lyre may tune,

Yet ah, the flow'rs he round it wreathes
Were pluck'd beneath pale Passion's moon,
Whose madness in their odour breathes.

How purer far the sacred lute,

Round which Devotion ties

Sweet flow'rs that turn to heav'nly fruit,
And palm that never dies.

Though War's high-sounding harp may be
Most welcome to the hero's ears,
Alas, his chords of victory

Are wet, all o'er, with human tears.

How far more sweet their numbers run,
Who hymn, like Saints above,
No victor, but th' Eternal One,
No trophies but of Love!

GO FORTH TO THE MOUNT.

(AIR. STEVENSON.)

Go forth to the Mount - bring the olive-branch

home,*

And rejoice, for the day of our Freedom is come! From that time,† when the moon upon Ajalon's vale, Looking motionless down, saw the kings of the

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Oh, never had Judah an hour of such mirth!

"And that they should publish and proclaim in all their cities, and in Jerusalem, saying, Go forth unto the mount and fetch olive-branches," etc. etc. Neh. viii. 15.

"For since the days of Joshua the son of Nun unto that day had not the children of Israel done so: and there was very great gladness."- - Ib. 17.

"Sun, stand thou still upon Gibeon; and thou, Moon, in the valley of Ajalon.” — Josh. x. 12.

Go forth to the Mount - bring the olive-branch home, And rejoice, for the day of our Freedom is come!

Bring myrtle and palm- bring the boughs of each

tree

That's worthy to wave o'er the tents of the Free.* From that day, when the footsteps of Israel shone, With a light not their own, through the Jordan's deep tide,

Whose waters shrunk back as the Ark glided on
Oh, never had Judah an hour of such pride!
Go forth to the Mount - bring the olive-branch

home,

And rejoice, for the day of our Freedom is come!

IS IT NOT SWEET TO THINK, HEREAFTER.

(AIR. HAYDN.)

Is it not sweet to think, hereafter,
When the Spirit leaves this sphere,
Love, with deathless wing, shall waft her

To those she long hath mourn'd for here?

"Fetch olive-branches, and pine-branches, and myrtlebranches, and palm-branches, and branches of thick trees, to make booths."— Neh. viii. 15.

"And the priests that bare the ark of the covenant of the LORD stood firm on dry ground in the midst of Jordan, and all the Israelites passed over on dry ground." - Josh. iii. 17.

Hearts, from which 't was death to sever,

Eyes, this world can ne'er restore, There, as warm, as bright as ever, Shall meet us and be lost no more.

When wearily we wander, asking

Of earth and heav'n, where are they, Beneath whose smile we once lay basking, Blest, and thinking bliss would stay?

Hope still lifts her radiant finger
Pointing to th' eternal Home,
Upon whose portal yet they linger,
Looking back for us to come.

Alas, alas - doth Hope deceive us?

Shall friendship- love - shall all those ties

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That bind a moment, and then leave us,
Be found again where nothing dies?

Oh, if no other boon were given,

To keep our hearts from wrong and stain, Who would not try to win a Heaven

Where all we love shall live again?

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