But still in bondage I am held, And find no comfort there. Oh, make this heart rejoice or ache; And if it be not broken, break, THE SHINING LIGHT. My former hopes are dead; Ah, whither shall I fly? I hear the thunder roar; When I review my ways, But sure a friendly whisper says, I see, or think I see, A glimmering from afar; Forerunner of the sun, It marks the pilgrim's way; I'll gaze upon it while I run, And watch the rising day. THIRSTING FOR GOD. I THIRST, but not as once I did, The vain delights of earth to share; Thy words, Immanuel, all forbid First weaned my soul from earthly things, The mirth of fools and pomp of kings. I want that grace that springs from thee, Dear fountain of delight unknown, For sure, of all the plants that share A TALE.* IN Scotland's realm where trees are few, But where, however bleak the view, For husband there and wife may boast Their union undefiled, This tale is founded on an article of intelligence which the author found in the Buckinghamshire Herald for Saturday, June 1, 1793, in the following words : Glasgow, May 23. In a block, or pulley, near the head of the mast of a gabert now lying at the Broomielaw, there is a chaffinch's nest and four eggs. The nest was built while the vessel lay at Greenock, and was followed hither by both birds. Though the block is occasionally lowered for the inspection of the curious, the birds have not forsaken the nest. The cock, however, visits the nest but seldom, while the hen never leaves it but when she descends to the huil for food. And false ones are as rare almost In Scotland's realm, forlorn and bare, The spring drew near, each felt a breast They paired, and would have built a nest, The heath uncovered, and the moors, Long time a breeding place they sought, A ship!--could such a restless thing Hush--Silent hearers profit most— Proved kinder to them than the coast But such a tree! 'twas shaven deal, Within that cavity aloft, Their roofless home they fixed, Formed with materials neat and soft, Four ivory eggs soon pave its floor, The mother-bird is gone to sea, No-soon as from ashore he saw Then perching at his consort's side, The seaman with sincere delight For seamen much believe in signs, Hail, honoured land! A desert where And ye who, rather than resign Were not afraid to plough the brine For whose lean country much disdain Be it your fortune, year by year, SONG ON PEACE. Air-"My fond shepherds of late," &c. No longer I follow a sound; I have sought thee in splendour and dress, An humble ambition and hope The voice of true Wisdom inspires; "Tis sufficient, if Peace be the scope And the summit of all our desires. Peace may be the lot of the mind |