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Break Superstition's magic spell,
REV. H. MOORE.
As musing slow the seabeat shore I tread,
While all is dark, and on the white wave's head The lightning pours a momentary day;
Then through the heavens, methinks, Eternal Sire! Thy justice walks,impels the whirlwind's breath, Swells the deep thunder, barbs the lightning's fire, And shakes o'er guilty worlds the balanced death.
Then in the roarings of the blast I hear
Thy chariot wheels: O! who can hear and live? Convicted Nature dreads the vengeance near, And Guilt uplifts her hands, and cries, Forgive!
'But when more tranquil scenes my steps invite,
Inspiring all beneath, around, above; A small still voice in every dying breeze, A voice divine proclaims that Thou art Love! Then, stormy shores and surging waves, adieu! And welcome brook, and vale, and peaceful [view But whence this thought? Shall Reason's eagle In none but tranquil scenes trace heavenly love? No! place me where, on Zembla's widow'd coast, Dark Winter heaps eternal snows on high, And bids his towering battlements of frost Float on mid seas, and pillar half the sky; Or place me on Bahouda's thirsty sand, Where the parch'd pilgrim longs for dewy night, Where whirling pyramids of fiery sand
O'erwhelm the panting Arab in his flight;
Still heavenly mercy o'er the sullen hours
Bid storms be still, and amaranthine flowers
New worlds, new seasons at her beck shall rise,
A sudden fragrance flow through tropic skies,
G. O. BUSH.
AN ANGEL'S SURVEY OF THE WORLD.
'AMONG the tribes that float in air around, Or cleave the curling wave, or graze the ground, Is there no being of superior frame?
No master work of Heaven,
To whom more awful powers, a purer flame,
By the First Father form'd sublime to sway
There is I see this earthly demigod;
I see the graceful form, the meaning face, Erect, and towering to yon bright abode,
Where, with majestic beauty stamp'd, I trace The' inspiring soul that fills the lovely shrine, Reason's keen piercing beam, and Virtue's air divine.'
So spake a spirit of ethereal flame,
When first to earth a visitant he came;
Awhile the purple-pinion'd stranger stood,
His Maker's image, stamp'd divinely fair,
Profaned by Folly, or by Vice defaced;
All quench'd the sacred Soul's ethereal flame;
Her reason slave to sense, and bending to the beast.
By scourging furies, waste the works of Heaven.
Here Vice he sees, enthroned in Virtue's shrine,
Rush on her glittering spoils with rapine bold,
Now strike his startled ear from far The din and deafening clamours of the bar. There with arch leer and ever pliant tongue, Stands Sophistry, confounding right and wrong; With Impudence, nor man nor God can awe, And stern Oppression, sanctified by law;
While Perjury, without remorse or dread,
Her rightful seat and sacred temple flies;
There sees he blazing in imperial pride
But now the martial clarion's shrill alarms
Now meet the charging legions-hate and ire Edge their keen swords and sparkle in their eyes: The glowing field appears a moving fire:
Loud and more loud the mingling clangors rise.