"CALL UPON ME IN THE DAY OF

TROUBLE."

BY JAMES REES, ESQ.

POVERTY, like some darkening shade of night,
Weighs on the heart, and with a withering power
Dries up the spring of Hope! It is the cause
Of many crimes, which, moving onward, crush
The finer feelings of the heart, and spread
Their desolation round. The eye looks out
On Earth, from its dark prison, misty seems
What all before was bright; the flow'rets fade
And wither at the gaze; the lily droops,

And o'er the parterre goes a fell simoom
With devastating power. No thing of life
Survives. The Sun looks dark, and nightly gloom
Pervades all earth; and yet no gloom is there!
The eye is dimmed by woe; its feeble glare

Reflects the dying embers of the heart.

Thus man droops, his very nature throws
O'er smiling earth a darkening shade of self,
Which Truth dispels, but in the heart of Sin
No truth, alas! is found. There grim despair
Sits enthron'd, and, mocking all sacred things,
Erects a standard Fate itself upholds -
That it may fill the circle mark'd by Heaven.

A man of grief, he bends

Behold yon man! —

His head upon his trembling hands, and feels
That he is doom'd! His sins are up in arms,
And, hound-like, hunt the better part to death!
The storms and tempests of the world he dreads,
The lightning's flash he shuns. This man hath sinn'd.
His heart's oppress'd; he dared to curse, not call
On God. The lightning's glare was Heaven's wrath,
The thunder's roar to him, its awful curse! -
He dares not pray, and yet an angel's voice
Cries out, "Turn ye from your evil ways,❞—
He sinks in grief, for on his soul there lies
A load of guilt, long years of conscious crime,
Years in which his youth and manhood grew. All
Wasted. The wine-cup and the wanton's lip,
The dice-box, and the wassail long and deep
Employed the sunny hours of life—till light

And all went out. Not that alone, for see, –

Beside him sits an angel form, whose hand
Now points the wretched man to Hope. Her eyes
Are moisten'd, tears of sorrow and of joy
Now trickle down her cheek,-joy of the heart,
For in his faltering voice, and bending looks
He sees the efficacy of prayer! -

Prayer intuitive- a gentle dove that lies
Nestled amid the foliage of the heart,

And only strives for freedom, when bright Hope
Sheds pearly sunshine round its prison bars!

She had watch'd each struggle, and in grief —
Prayed for him the world had long shut out.

That gentle dove awoke, when woman's voice Broke on the ruin and wreck of earthly hope; It flutter'd there, where life had long seem'd dead, And wing'd its flight, a pleader for its home!That man of sin

Feels the soft touch of virtue's hand, and weeps;

But why thus hide his eyes? Check not thy tears; Weep boldly, for they are showers of Hope.

Her voice an angel voice- bade him awake

From dreams of night, and on the ambient air
See seraphims, wing'd messengers of joy,

Whose voices musical the world; how sweet
Those blessed words" Behold the Lamb of God,

Which taketh away the sin of the world."

Hark! a strain more plaintive far than Æolian Sound, or soft murmurs from Arcadian groves, Comes o'er his heart, that heart of heavy grief; Nearer it comes how soft, how heavenly! Hark! What holy words now syllable the strain — "Awake, thou man of woes, awake and pray, For truly the Lord hath said as written,

'Call upon me in the day of trouble;'

Then shall thy light break forth as the morning,

thee fade away,

And the clouds which oppress thee fade

As the mists of night from the mountain tops."

Thy wife hath invoked the spirit of prayer, For prayer never forsakes the heart that throbs With life! ALL THAT IS GOD'S, LIVES ON FOREVER.

MARY MAGDALENE.

BY W. CULLEN BRYANT.

BLESSED, yet sinful one, and broken-hearted!
The crowd are pointing at the thing forlorn,
In wonder and in scorn!

Thou weepest days of innocence departed;
Thou weepest, and thy tears have power to move
The Lord to pity and love.

The greatest of thy follies forgiven,

Even for the least of all the tears that shine

On that pale cheek of thine.

Thou didst kneel down, to Him who came from

heaven,

Evil and ignorant; and thou shalt rise

Holy, and pure, and wise.

It is not much that to the fragrant blossom

The ragged briar should change; the bitter fir
Distil Arabian myrrh;