Green are their bays; but greener still

Shall round their spreading fame be wreathed, And regions, now untrod, shall thrill

With reverence when their names are breathed.

Till where the sun, with softer fires,
Looks on the vast Pacific's sleep,

The children of the pilgrim sires

This hallowed day like us shall keep.

HYMN OF THE CITY.

Nor in the solitude

Alone may man commune with heaven, or see

Only in savage wood

And sunny vale, the present Deity;

Or only hear his voice

Where the winds whisper and the waves rejoice.

Even here do I behold

Thy steps, Almighty!-here, amidst the crowd, Through the great city rolled,

With everlasting murmur deep and loud—

Choking the ways that wind

'Mongst the proud piles, the work of human kind.

Thy golden sunshine comes

From the round heaven, and on their dwellings

lies,

And lights their inner homes;

For them thou fill'st with air the unbounded

skies,

And givest them the stores

Of ocean, and the harvests of its shores.

Thy spirit is around,

Quickening the restless mass that sweeps along; And this eternal sound

Voices and footfalls of the numberless throngLike the resounding sea,

Or like the rainy tempest, speaks of thee.

And when the hours of rest

Come, like a calm upon the mid-sea brine,
Hushing its billowy breast-

The quiet of that moment too is thine;
It breathes of Him who keeps

The vast and helpless city while it sleeps.

THE PRAIRIES.

THESE are the gardens of the Desert, these The unshorn fields, boundless and beautiful, For which the speech of England has no nameThe Prairies. I behold them for the first, And my heart swells, while the dilated sight Takes in the encircling vastness. Lo! they stretch

In airy undulations, far away,

As if the ocean, in his gentlest swell,

Stood still, with all his rounded billows fixed,