'Tis one undeviating flame—

One spirit-stirring fire,

The love that ever loves the same-
The love that may not tire.

It closely tends the fleeting breath,
When life's last struggles rave;
Is present with the loved in death—
And follows to the grave!

MY MOTHER'S VOICE.

John Barris, a Cornish Miner.

I HEAR it in the busy throng ;
I hear it when alone;

I hear it in the rock-ribb'd earth,
The same melodious tone!

I hear it when my heart is sad;
I hear it when I'm gay;
It floats around me everywhere,
That sweetest voice for aye!

It leads me back when life was new;
Tells of those happy hours
I pass'd in childhood's sunny vale,
Among the opening flowers;
Talks to me of my mountain home,
That home of homes to me,
Engraven on my heart of hearts,
For ever there to be!

The music of this voice I hear,
Above the world's rough roar,
Like whispers from another sphere,
Some calm Elysian shore;

Sweet harp-notes from the lyre of Time,
Around me and within,

They gush with conquering ecstasy,
To lure my soul from sin.

NATURE.

Sames Montgomery.

THE God of nature and of grace
In all his works appears;

His goodness through the earth we trace,
His grandeur in the spheres.

Behold this fair and fertile globe,
By him in wisdom plann'd;
'Twas he who girded, like a robe,
The ocean round the land.

Lift to the arch of heaven your eye,
Thither his path pursue;
His glory, boundless as the sky,
O'erwhelms the wond'ring view.

He bows the heav'ns-the mountains stand,
A highway for their God;

He walks amidst the desert land

'Tis Eden where he trod.

The forests in his strength rejoice;
Hark! on the evening breeze,

As one of old, the Lord God's voice
Is heard among the trees.

Here on the hills he feeds his herds,
His flocks on yonder plains ;
His praise is warbled by the birds,
Oh, could we catch their strains,

Mount with the lark, and bear our song
Up to the gates of light;

Or, with the nightingale, prolong
Our numbers through the night!

In every stream his bounty flows,
Diffusing joy and wealth;
every breeze his Spirit blows
The breath of life and health.

In

His blessings fall in plenteous showers

Upon the lap of earth,

That teems with foliage, fruit, and flowers, And rings with infant mirth.

If God hath made this world so fair,

Where sin and death abound,

How beautiful beyond compare
Will Paradise be found!

MORTALITY.

Koor.

OH! why should the spirit of mortal be proud?
Like a fast flitting meteor, a fast flying cloud,
A flash of the lightning, a break of the wave—
He passes from life to his rest in the grave.

The leaves of the oak and the willow shall fade,
Be scattered around, and together be laid;

And the young and the old, and the low and the high,
Shall moulder to dust, and together shall lie.

The child that a mother attended and lov'd,
The mother that infant's affection that prov'd,
The husband that mother and infant that blessed,
Each-all are away to their dwelling of rest.

The hand of the king that the sceptre hath borne,
The brow of the priest that the mitre hath worn,
The eye of the sage, and the heart of the brave,
Are hidden and lost in the depths of the grave.

The saint that enjoyed the communion of heaven,
The sinner that dared to remain unforgiv'n,
The wise and the foolish, the guilty and just,
Have quietly mingled their bones in the dust.

So the multitude goes-like the flower and the weed
That wither away to let others succeed;

So the multitude comes-even those we behold,
To repeat every tale that hath often been told.

Yea, hope and despondence, and pleasure and pain, Are mingled together like sunshine and rain;

And the smile and the tear, and the song and the dirge,

Still follow each other like surge upon surge.

'Tis the twink of an eye, 'tis the draught of a breath,

From the blossom of health to the paleness of death,

From the gilded saloon to the bier and the shroud; Oh! why should the spirit of mortal be proud?

PRIVATE WORSHIP.

Cowper.

FAR from the world, O Lord, I flee,
From strife and tumult far;
From scenes where Satan wages still
His most successful war.

The calm retreat, the silent shade,
With prayer and praise agree,
And seem by thy sweet bounty made
For those who follow thee.

There, if thy Spirit touch the soul,
And grace her mean abode,

O with what peace, and joy, and love,
She communes with her God!