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Or if 'tis e'er denied thee
In solitude to pray,
When friends are round thy way;
E'en then the silent breathing
Of thy spirit rais'd above, Will reach. His throne of glory,
Who is Mercy, Truth, and Love.
THE RESTORATION OF ISRAEL.
MOUNTAINS of Israel, rear on high
Your summits, crowned with verdure new, And spread your branches to the sky,
Refulgent with celestial dew.
-And Judah's peaceful valleys, smile,
Where ocean's waves incessant toil.
See where the scattered tribes return;
Their slavery is burst at length, And purer
flames to Jesus burn, And Zion girds on her new strength : New cities bloom along the plain,
New temples to Jehovah rise, The kindling voice of praise again,
Pours its sweet anthems to the skies.
The fruitful fields again are blest,
And yellow harvests smile around;
and innocence are found.
The bloody sacrifice no more
Shall smoke upon the altars high, But ardent hearts from hill to shore,
Send grateful incense to the sky!
The jubilee of man is near,
When earth, as heaven, shall own His reign ; He comes to wipe the mourner's tear,
And cleanse the heart from sin and pain. Praise him, ye tribes of Israel, praise
The king that ransomed you Nations, the hymn of triumph raise, And bid the
THERE is an untold something, dwelling
In every feeling breast,
That this is not our rest.
It bids us seek some other region,
Some better land afar ;
The happy spirits are.
So that, when friend from friend must sever,
Some cheering voice may tell,
G. BEDDOW. SCOTLAND.
O CALEDONIA ! stern and wild,
O SCOTLAND! much I love thy tranquil dales ;
GRAHAME. TO IRELAND.
Written on occasion of the Gospel being first preached
in a Chapel in the native Irish tongue.
ERIN Mavourneen! oh, when wilt thou rise
From the torpor of death that has bound thee? The veil of delusion is cast o'er thine eyes,
Thy children are weeping around thee ! Harp of sweet Inisfail ! mute are thy chords,
Silent thy deep-flowing numbers, Strangers unholy have long been thy lords,
And weeds have crept over thy slumbers.
Erin Mavourneen ! the Day-Star shall shine,
To soften thy night into morning ;
The lands with thy beauty adorning.
By the stream of a life-giving fountain ; Again may thy rich stream of melody break,
To gladden each valley and mountain.
Erin Mavourneen ! the bosoms that mourn,
Again may in rapture behold thee ;
And the blaze of his presence enfold thee.
To thee let the triumph be given,
Ye Field Flowers ! the gardens eclipse you, 'tis true, Yet, wildings of nature, I doat upon you ;
For ye waft me to summers of old, When the earth teem'd around me with fairy delight, And when daisies and buttercups gladdened my sight,
Like treasures of silver and gold.
I love you for lulling me back into dreams
And of broken glades breathing their balm ; While the deer was seen glancing in sunshine remote, And the deep mellow crush of the wood-pigeon's note
Made music, that sweetened the calm.
Not a pastoral song has a pleasanter tune
Of ruinous castles ye tell,
your blossoms were part of her spell.
Even now, what affections the violet awakes ;
Can the wild water-lily restore :
In the vetches that tangled their shore !