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Che Warmony of Ilature.

THERE is joy among the ice-bergs, when ends the polar night,
And their mighty crystals flash, in the newly wakened light:
There is joy in shouting Egypt, when through her valleys wide,
Pours the fountain of her harvests, its renovated tide.
Through each zone that belts the earth, Nature sings a gladsome

song,
In numbers sweetly simple, or magnificently strong.
By the well spring in the desert, beneath the spreading Palm,
Her voice rings sweet and holy, through an atmosphere of balm :
Where Niagara the burthen of his congregated springs,
Hurls down the yawning chasm, how gloriously she sings !
Afar in leafy forests, where the axe hath never swung,
Where the Indian roams sole monarch and the panther rears her

young; In meadows of the wilderness, where proudly in the air, The Elk his antlers tosseth, and the Bison makes his lair ; From heights where the strong Eagle, sways his pinions on the

cloud, And valleys where the vine's bright leaves the blushing clusters

shroud : From the teeming lap of ocean where rest the sunny isles, And white-winged barques are laden with their rich and sunny

spoils ; With trumpet-tongued sụblimity, or low and silver voice, Nature swells the mighty anthem, whose burthen is—Rejoice! Oh life sustaining air, bounding ocean, verdant earth, The universe is ringing with the music of your mirth! Yet wide as is your empire, and vast as is your plan, Ye are but vassal servitors, that minister to man ! 'Tis true in fierce rebellion, there are moments when ye rise, And crush the weak defences, he hath labored to devise :

THE HARMONY OF NATURE.

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Yet past your burst of anger, again you own his sway,
Ye come to him with tribute, ye hear him and obey !
He heweth down and rendeth the patriarchs of the wood,
He fashions them to Palaces that bear him o'er the flood.
Next the boundless realms of air must be subject to his pride,
And lo! the startled Eagle beholds him at his side.
On earth a mighty agent impels him with a speed,
Which mocks the fleetest gallop of the desert nurtured steed:
Intelligence his sceptre, his weapon and his shield,
Who shall limit the results that his enterprise may yield.
How glorious is his heritage ! how loud should be His praise,
When even things inanimate, a song of gladness raise !
The bounteous gifts of Providence forever round him shower,
For him the wild birds carol, and for him the bursting flower,
From the jeweled arch of heaven, to the daisy chequered sod,
Is one continued banquet for the masterpiece of God!

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AND the Frost too, has a melodious ministry! You will hear its crystals shoot in the dead of a clear night, as if the moonbeams were splintering like arrows on the ground: and you listen to it the more earnestly, that it is the going on of one of the most cunning and beautiful of nature's deep mysteries. I know nothing so wonderful as the shooting of a crystal! God has hidden its principle from the inquisitive eye of the philosopher, and we must be content to gaze on its exquisite beauty, and listen in mute wonder, to the noise of its invisible workmanship. It is too fine a knowledge for us. We shall comprehend it when we know how “the morning stars sang together.”

N. P. WILLIS.

Thoughts on the Quakers.

The following sentiment was published by a clergyman of the Church of England.

“ For my part, I conscientiously believe, that there is more of the spirit of true religion in the idolatry that kneels in mistaken, though heartfelt gratitude, to a sculptured image, than in the deliberate mockery which sends up solemn sounds from thoughtless tongues. This is a rock of temptation which the Quakers have avoided, in dispensing with the inspiration of song : they at least, shun its abuses : and if they really succeed in filling their hour with intense religious meditation and spiritual communion : if from their still retreat, the waves of this boisterous world are excluded, and send hither no disturbo ing—if no calculations of interest, and no sanguine plans are there prosecuted ; and no hopes, nor fears, nor regrets, nor triumphs, nor recollections; nor any other flowers that grow this side the grave, are gathered and pressed to the bosom, on the margin of these quiet waters; if in short, the very silence of the scene, is not too much for the feeble heart of man, which if deprived of the stay of external things, will either fall back on itself, or else will rove to the world's end, to expend its restless activity in a field of chaotic imaginings : if I say, the Quakers are so happy as to escape these perils, together with the seductions to vanity which music and preaching present, then must their worship be the purest of all worships, and their absence of forms, be the perfection of all form."

THE good old motto was never more important than in the present day of polemical strife and sectarian prejudice: In essentials, unity: in non essentials, Liberty : in all things, Charity.

J. J. G.

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