NATURE'S HYMNS. J. G. WHITTIER. [By permission of Houghton, Mifflin & Co.] And to her voice the solemn ocean lent, Touching its harp of sand, a deep accompaniment. HE harp at Nature's advent strung Has never ceased to play; The song the stars of morning sung And prayer is made, and praise is given, The ocean looketh up to heaven, And mirrors every star. Its waves are kneeling on the strand, Their white locks bowing to the sand, They pour their glittering treasures forth, Their gifts of pearl they bring, And all the listening hills of earth Take up the song they sing. The green earth sends her incense up The mists above the morning rills The winds with hymns of praise are loud, The thunder-organ of the cloud, The dropping tears of rain. With drooping head and branches crossed Or speaks with tongues of Pentecost The blue sky is the temple's arch, Its transept earth and air, The music of its starry march The chorus of a prayer. So Nature keeps the reverent frame MAJESTY OF GOD. T. STERNHOLD. The Lord descended from above, And underneath his feet he cast On cherubim and seraphim Full royally he rode, And on the wings of mighty winds Came flying all abroad. He sat serene upon the floods, And he, as sovereign Lord and King, For evermore shall reign. Give glory to his awful name, "NO, NOT MORE WELCOME." TOM MOORE. No, not more welcome the fairy numbers He thinks the full choir of heaven is near,Than came that voice, when all forsaken, This heart long had sleeping lain, Nor thought its cold pulse would ever waken To such benign, blessed sounds again. Sweet voice of comfort! 'twas like the stealing 'Twas whisper'd balm-'twas sunshine spoken! I'd live years of grief and pain, To have my long sleep of sorrow broken BEAUTIFUL HANDS. MRS, ELLEN H. GATES. UCH beautiful, beautiful hands, I've looked on hands in form and hue Such beautiful, beautiful hands; Tho' heart was weary and sad, To childhood's distant day, I think how these hands rested not Such beautiful, beautiful hands, |