On us thy spirit haft thou poured; We feel, we bless, thy quickening, Lord! Thou comeft near; thou ftandest by; Thou dwelleft with us mightily, On come the years divine! OLD AND NEW. T. H. Gill. SOMETIMES gleams upon our fight, And step by step, fince time began, We see the steady gain of man; That all of good the past hath had We lack but open eye and ear For ftill the new transcends the old, Slaves rise up men; the olive waves Through the harsh noises of our day Henceforth my heart fhall figh no more J. G. Whittier. THE DAY OF THE LORD! THE HE day of the Lord is at hand, at hand, A nation fleeps ftarving on heaps of gold, When the pain is soreft, the child is born, Gather you, gather you, angels of God; Come, for the earth is grown coward and old; Gather you, gather you, hounds of hell,- Gather, and fall in the snare! Hirelings and Mammonites, Pedants and Knaves, Who would fit down and whine for a loft Age of Gold True hearts will leap up at the trumpet of God, Each past Age of Gold was an iron age too, And the meekest of saints may find ftern work to do In the day of the Lord at hand. Rev. Charles Kingsley. BATTLE HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC. MINE eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord: He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored; He hath loosed the fateful lightnings of His terrible swift sword: His truth is marching on. I have seen him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling camps; They have builded Him an altar in the evening dews and damps; I can read His righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps: His day is marching on. I have read a fiery gospel writ in burnished rows of steel: ye deal with my contemners, so with you my grace fhall deal; "As Let the Hero, born of woman, crush the serpent with his heel, Since God is marching on." He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat; He is fifting out the hearts of men before His judgment seat: Oh, be swift, my soul, to answer Him! be jubilant, my feet! Our God is marching on. In the beauty of the lilies Chrift was born across the sea, With a glory in his bosom that transfigures you and me: As he died to make men holy, let us die to make men free, While God is marching on. Mrs. Julia Ward Howe. WE THY WILL BE DONE. E see not, know not; all our way The flesh may fail, the heart may faint, |