The perfumed air, the hush of eve,
To purer hopes appealing,

O'er thoughts perchance too prone to grieve
Scattered the balm of healing.

For thus "the actions of the just,"

When memory hath enshrined them,

E'en from the dark and silent dust

Their odor leave behind them.

THOUGH glorious, O God! must thy temple have been, On the day of its first dedication,

When the cherubim's wings widely waving were seen On high, o'er the ark's holy station;

When even the chosen of Levi, though skilled
To minister standing before Thee,

Retired from the cloud which the temple then filled,
And thy glory made Israel adore Thee;

Though awfully grand was thy majesty then;
Yet the worship thy Gospel discloses,
Less splendid in pomp to the vision of men,
Far surpasses the ritual of Moses.

And by whom was that ritual forever repealed
But by Him, unto whom it was given

To enter the Oracle, where is revealed,

Not the cloud, but the brightness of heaven.

Who, having once entered, Lath shown us the way,
O Lord! how to worship before Thee;

Not with shadowy forms of that earlier day,
But in spirit and truth to adore Thee!

This, this is the worship the Saviour made known,
When she of Samaria found him

By the patriarch's well sitting weary, alone,

With the stillness of noontide around Him.

How sublime, yet how simple, the homage He taught,
To her who inquired by that fountain,
If Jehovah at Solyma's shrine would be sought,
Or adored on Samaria's mountain!

"Woman! believe me, the hour is near,

When He, if ye rightly would hail Him, Will neither be worshipped exclusively here, Nor yet at the altar of Salem.

"For God is a spirit! and they who aright

Would perform the pure worship He loveth, In the heart's holy temple will seek, with delight, That spirit the Father approveth."

THE POOL OF BETHESDA.

AROUND Bethesda's healing wave,

Waiting to hear the rustling wing
Which spoke the angel nigh, who gave
Its virtue to that holy spring,
With patience and with hope endued,
Were seen the gathered multitude.

Among them there was one whose eye
Had often seen the waters stirred;

Whose heart had often heaved the sigh,
The bitter sigh of hope deferred:
Beholding while he suffered on,
The healing virtue given,-and gone!

No power had he; no friendly aid

To him its timely succor brought;
But, while his coming he delayed,

Another won the boon he sought;—
Until the Saviour's love was shown,
Which healed him by a word alone!

Had they who watched and waited there
Been conscious who was passing by,
With what unceasing, anxious care,

Would they have sought his pitying eye, And craved with fervency of soul,

His

power divine to make them whole!

. But habit and tradition swayed

Their minds to trust to sense alone;

They only hoped the angel's aid;

While in their presence stood unknown

A greater, mightier far than he,
With power from every pain to free.

Bethesda's pool has lost its power!

No angel, by his glad descent,

Dispenses that diviner dower

Which with its healing waters went, But He, whose word surpassed its wave, Is still Omnipotent to save.

And what that fountain once was found,

Religion's outward forms remain—

With living virtue only crowned

While their first freshness they retain ;

Only replete with power to cure

When, spirit-stirred, their source is pure!

Yet are there who this truth confess,

Who know how little forms avail, But whose protracted helplessness

Confirms the impotent's sad tale; Who, day by day, and year by year, As emblems of his lot appear.

They hear the sounds of life and love,
Which tell the visitant is nigh;

They see the troubled waters move,

Whose touch alone might health supply;

But weak of faith, infirm of will,
Are powerless, helpless, hopeless still.
Saviour! thy love is still the same

As when that healing word was spoke;
Still in thine all-redeeming name

Dwells power to burst the strongest yoke.
Oh! be that power, that love displayed!
Help those, whom Thou alone canst aid!

TIME'S TAKINGS AND LEAVINGS.

WHAT does age take away ?

Bloom from the cheek, and lustre from the eye;
The spirits light and gay,

Unclouded as the summer's bluest sky.

What do years steal away?

The fond heart's idol, Love, that gladdened life,
Friendship, whose calmer sway

We trusted to in hours of darker strife.

What must with Time decay?

Young Hope's wild dreams, and Fancy's visions bright, Life's evening sky grows gray,

And darker clouds prelude Death's coming night.

But not for such we mourn!

We know them frail, and brief their date assigned;
Our spirits are forlorn,

Less from Time's thefts, than what he leaves behind.

What do years leave behind?

Unruly passions, impotent desires,

Distrusts and thoughts unkind,

Love of the world, and self-which last expires.

For these, for these we grieve;

What Time has robbed us of we know must go:
But what he deigns to leave,

Not only finds us poor, but keeps us so.

It ought not thus to be;

Nor would it, knew we meek Religion's sway;

Her votary's eye could see

How little Time can give, or take awav.

Faith, in the heart enshrined,

Would make Time's gifts enjoyed and used, while lent; And all it left behind,

Of Love and Grace, a noble monument.

POWER AND

BENEVOLENCE.

GOD is not great because omnipotent!

But because power in Him is understood

And felt, and proved to be benevolent,

And wise, and holy;-thus it ever should!
For what He wills we know is pure and good,

And has in view the happiness of all:

Hence love and adoration :-never could

The contrite spirit at his footstool fall,

If power, and power alone, its feelings did appal!

If then divinest power be truly so,

Because its proper object is to bless ;
It follows, that all power which man can know,
The highest even monarchs can possess,
Displays alone their "less than littleness,"
Unless it seek the happiness of man

And glory of the Highest ;-nothing less
Than such a use of power one moment can
Make its possessor great, on wisdom's Godlike plan.