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Jerusalem.

THE following paragraph suggested the lines below it. "A severe Earthquake is said to have taken place at Jerusalem, which has destroyed a great part of that City, shaken down the mosque of Omar, and reduced the Holy Sepulchre to ruins from top to bottom."

FOUR lamps were burning o'er two mighty graves,

Godfrey's and Baldwin's-Salem's christian Kings-
And holy light glanc'd from Helena's naves,

Fed with the incense which the Pilgrim brings-
While through the pannell'd roof, the Cedar flings
Its sainted arms o'er choir and roof and dome,
And every porphyry-pillar'd cloister rings
To every kneeler there its "welcome home,"

As every lip breathes out, " O Lord thy kingdom come."

A mosque was garnished with its crescent moons,
And a clear voice call'd Musslemans to prayer.
There were the splendours of Judea's thrones—
There were the trophies which its conquerors wear-
All but the truth, the holy truth, was there:

For there, with lip profane the crier stood,

And him from the tall minaret you might hear
Singing to all whose steps had thither trod,

That verse misunderstood, "There is no God but God."

Hark! did the Pilgrim tremble as he kneel'd!
And did the turban'd Turk his sins confess!

Those mighty hands, the elements that wield,
That mighty power that knows to curse or bless,
Is over all; and in whatever dress

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JERUSALEM.

His suppliants crowd around him.

He can see

Their heart, in city or in wilderness,

And probe its core, and make its blindness see
That He is very God, the only Deity.

There was an Earthquake once, that rent thy fane
Proud Julian; when, (against the prophecy
Of Him who liv'd, and died, and rose again,
"That one stone on another should not lie,”)
Thou woulds't rebuild that Jewish Masonry
To mock the eternal word—the earth below

Gush'd out in fire-and from the brazen sky,
And from the boiling seas such wrath did flow,
As saw not Shinar's plain, nor Babel's overthrow.

Another Earthquake comes. Dome, roof and wall
Tremble; and headlong to the grassy bank
And in the muddied stream the fragments fall,

While the rent chasm spread its jaws, and drank
At one huge draught, the sediment, which sank

In Salem's drained goblet. Mighty Power,

Thou, whom we all should worship, praise and thank,

Where was thy mercy in that awful hour,

When hell mov'd from beneath, and thine own Heaven did lower.

Say, Pilate's Palace ;-say, proud Herod's towers-
Say, gate of Bethlehem, did your arches quake?
Thy Pool Bethesda, was it fill'd with showers?
Calm Gihon, did the jar thy waters wake?
Tomb of thee, Mary-Virgin-did it shake?
Glow'd thy bought field, Aceldema, with blood?

Where were the shudderings Calvary might make?
Did sainted Mount Moriah send a flood,

To wash away the spot where once a God had stood !

JERUSALEM.

Lost Salem of the Jews-great sepulchre,
Of all profane and of all holy things,
Where Jew and Turk and Gentile yet concur
To make thee what thou art!

With the sad truth which He has prophesied,
Who would have sheltered with his holy wings
Thee and thy children. You his

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power defied; You scourg'd Him while he liv'd, and mock'd Him as He died.

There is a Star in the untroubled sky,

That caught the first light which its Maker made

It led the hymn of other orbs on high,

"Twill shine when all the fires of Heaven shall fade.
Pilgrims at Salem's porch, be that your aid!

For it has kept its watch on Palestine !

Look to its holy light, nor be dismay'd,

Though broken is each consecrated shrine,

Though crush'd and ruin'd all-which men have called divine.

BRAINARD.

In our journey through life, we come upon a fountain of holy delight, and the stream from it we follow, day by day, and year after year. And perhaps then it vanishes, and leaves us to walk a dry and dusty and unlovely path. But that sweet stream —is it lost in the salt sea of sorrow, along with the river of ambition, and the muddy torrents of the world? O no! it has not ended in the salt sea of sorrow, nor ever reached it. It has disappeared with perhaps the heat of the day in summer. And so, not into the sea of hopeless sorrow but into the sky it has gone: and if we are watchful it will hold for us there the rainbow of heavenly promise.

THORPE.

Pardsham Craig.

PARDSHAW CRAIG in Cumberland is a point of limestone ledge, where George Fox used to stand and preach to many thousand people at a time;—there is something extraordinary in the conformation of the place; the "preacher's clint," is a rock rising immediately from the brink of a perpendicular cliff of about fifteen feet, and not unlike in height, size and shape to a pulpit; on the back, the ground rises a little, but nearly level for several yards, on which there are thickly strewn and permanently embedded a great number of square limestone rocks, about two feet high and the same square; one could almost imagine them the work of the hand of art, but this evidently is not the case, as the same phenomenon may be seen every where over the hill. We thought five hundred persons might be seated on the rocks, behind the "preacher's clint," and within hearing. From the base of the perpendicular cliff, the ground slopes to the eastward, forming, with the brow of the hill which curves a little in the form of a new moon, a partial amphitheatre; from some unaccountable cause, a person may be heard, with an ordinary modulation of voice, over a space that we thought would contain one hundred thousand persons; here George Fox on one occasion convinced nearly all the inhabitants of the neighbourhood.

The country round is beautiful in the extreme ;—it is the land of mountains and lakes, than which nothing can be more picturesque.

L. M. HOAG.

TRUE religion is internal: the noblest temple of the Deity,

is the heart of man.

Lines

WRITTEN BY A LADY, AS AN EXCUSE FOR HER ZEAL IN

THE CAUSE OF TEMPERANCE.

Go, feel what I have felt,

Go, bear what I have borne-
Sink 'neath the blow a father dealt,

And the cold world's proud scorn-
Thus struggle on from year to year,
Thy sole relief, the scalding tear.

Go, weep as I have wept,

O'er a loved father's fall,

See every cherished promise swept-
Youth's sweetness turned to gall;

Hope's faded flowers strewed all the way,
That led me up to woman's day!

Go, kneel as I have knelt,

Implore, beseech, and pray,—

Strive the besotted heart to melt,

The downward course to stay,—

Be cast with bitter curse aside,

Thy prayers burlesqued, thy tears defied.

Go, stand where I have stood,

And see the strong man bow,

With gnashing teeth, lips bathed in blood,
And cold and livid brow:

Go, catch his wandering glance, and see
There, mirrored, his soul's misery.

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