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Thou Heavenly Pow'r! sole Ruler of the skies,

To whom the keys of life and death

belong;

To thee I lift my supplicating eyes, Thee, the Divine Inspirer of my song:

Like her, now mingling with the saints in light,

Give me to choose Religion's sacred part; Like her to combat, and to win the fight, And claim the promise of the pure in heart.

STANZAS.

I MET thee first in the brightest days, in the sunny hour of mirth,

When summer, with its thousand hues, was lighting up the earth;

When the softest breath of sunset's hours was whispering in each tree,

I've rode through many a woodland scene, my gentle friend, with thee.

I've seen thee when thy bounding step, and when thy laughing voice,

Might make the dark and troubled heart a moment to rejoice;

When the hours fled unheeded by thy spirit light and free,

I've tasted of the joyous cup-I've sipped its sweets with thee:

When thunder shook the vault of heaven, and the lightning's vivid glare

Shot fiercely 'cross our onward path, and cleft the liquid air;

When horror shook thy tender frame at the elements' wild glee,

I've borne the fury of the storm, and the tempest's rage with thee.

I've seen thee in the parting hour, with the tear-drop in thine eye,

I have watched each wild emotion, I have heard the deep drawn sigh;

And I longed that we might never lose that hour's fond memory,

And Heaven's choicest blessings then my spirit craved for thee.

And now the bleak autumnal winds fast strip the leafy grove,

And the summer warblers have forgot their tuneful song of love;

The flowers we loved to gather are fast hast'ning to decay,

And I am musing on the past, and thou art far away.

But though the hand of time must change each fondly cherished spot,

And though I still must linger here, while distant is thy lot;

Stern winter's days are numbered, and

his powers, though dark they be,

Shall never freeze this faithful heart that fondly beats for thee.

MARY ASHFORD.

BY JANE ELIZABETH.

J. G.

SHE came-like some aërial thing,
Floating on love's delicious wing-
Down to this land of care;
Oh! if a thing of mortal birth
Could be so very fair on earth,

In heaven how wondrous fair!

You might have deemed her love's pure child,

With features so divinely mild,

And hair so golden bright,
Like sunset straying o'er a sky
Of pearly whiteness, and her eye
Was blue as heaven's own light.

The rainbow glory of her soul
Was never dimm'd by earth's control,
Or wasted by its sin;

Her mind was an unclouded sky
Of holy thoughts, and feelings high,
Making all bliss within.

But as we find the loveliest thing
We prize in life's delightful spring,
Is first in its declining;

So pass'd that beauteous morning star
Into that sky where angels are,
In all their glory shining.

Mary, with thee I may not dwell,
Yet oft I feel my bosom swell,

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