Nor stooped their lamps th' enthroned fires on high; Came wandering from afar, Gliding unchecked and calm along the liquid sky; As at a kingly throne, To lay their gold and odors sweet The earth and ocean were not hushed to hear And scraphs' burning lyres, Poured through the host of heaven the charmed clouds along ; One angel-troop the strain began. Of all the race of man By simple shepherds heard alone And when Thou didst depart, no car of flame From fatal Calvary, With all thine own redeemed out-bursting from their tombs. For Thou didst bear away from earth But one of human birth, The dying felon by thy side, to be In Paradise with Thee. Nor o'er thy cross the clouds of vengeance brake; A little while the conscious earth did shake At that foul deed by her fierce children done; The world in darkness lay, Then basked in bright repose beneath the cloudless sun: While Thou didst sleep within the tomb, Ere yet the white-robed angel shone And when Thou didst arise, Thou didst not stand Thy mother's coming feet, And bear the words of peace unto the faithful few: Then calmly, slowly didst Thou rise Into thy native skies; Thy human form dissolved on high THE CRUCIFIXION. BOUND upon the accursed tree, By the baffled burning thirst, Bound upon the accursed tree, To the felon at his side; Lord! our suppliant knees we bow! Bound upon the accursed tree, By the saints before His throne, THE JUDGMENT. THE chariot! the chariot! its wheels roll on fire, And the heavens with the burden of Godhead are bowed. The glory! the glory! by myriads are poured The trumpet! the trumpet! the dead have all heard: The judgment! the judgment! the thrones are all set, O Mercy! O Mercy! look down from above, When beneath, to their darkness the wicked are driven, THE MERRY Ꮋ Ꭼ Ꭺ Ꭱ Ꭲ . I WOULD not from the wise require A single counter of their store. And more than wisdom, more than wealth,— At once, 'tis true, two witching eyes And quite subdued my better reason. And much improved, as I believe, The merry heart, that laughed at care. So now, from idle wishes clear, I make the good I may not find ; And shift my sail with every wind. Can still with pliant heart prepare, The merry heart, that laughs at care. Yet, wrap me in your sweetest dream, And let the rest good-humor find. Yes, let me hail and welcome give And pleased and pleasing let me live BISHOP MANT. DR. RICHARD MANT, one of the editors of a most valuable edition of the Holy Bible, is a living writer of great eminence. After filling for a time the office of Chaplain to the Archbishop of Canterbury, he became rector of St. Botolph, Bishopsgate, and in 1820 was appointed to the see of Killaloe, whence he was translated in 1823 to Down and Connor. Beside an admirable treatise on "The Happiness of the Blessed," some volumes of “Sermons,” and a valuable “History of the Church of Ireland," Bishop Mant has published numerous small poems on sacred subjects which have a high degree of merit. CHRISTIAN CONSOLATION ON THE DEATH OF FRIENDS. OH! come it first, or come it last, The sun shall rise, and all be light! Sweet thought, and of sweet solace full, Of those, beside a parting friend The form, so cherished once and dear, To follow on his funeral bier; And see the grave above it close, The last "long home" of man's repose. |