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A DREAM OF COLOURS.

'I, who in spring's first, fearful, fragrant flower, And in the summer eve's last lingering cloud, Praise Thee, now praise Thee in Thy holy temple."

Then all together sang-"Glory to God!"
As at the first, in strains so heavenly sweet
That with the thrill of deep delight I woke.

MARY MAYNARD.

THE PSALMS OF DAVID.

THE MUSIC OF NATURE.

E

sang

of God-the mighty source

Of all things the stupendous force

On which all strength depends;

From whose right arm, beneath whose eyes, All period, power and enterprise

Commences, reigns, and ends.

Angels-their ministry and meed,
Which to and fro with blessings speed,

Or with their citherns wait;

Where Michael, with his millions, bows,
Where dwells the seraph and his spouse,

The cherub and her mate.

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THE PSALMS OF DAVID.

Of man, the semblance and effect

Of God and love-the saint elect

For infinite applause,—

To rule the land and briny broad,
To be laborious in his land,

And heroes in his cause.

The world, the clustering spheres He made,
The glorious light, the soothing shade,

Dale, champaign, grove, and hill;

The multitudinous abyss,

Where scenery remains in bliss,

And Wisdom hides her skill.

Trees, plants, and flowers—of virtuous root;
Gem yielding blossom, yielding fruit,

Choice gums and precious balm ;

Bless ye the nosegay in the vale,

And with the sweetness of the gale
Enrich the thankful psalm.

Of foul-even every beak and wing
Which cheer the winter, hail the spring,

That live in peace, or prey;

THE PSALMS OF DAVID.

They that make music, or that mock,
The quail, the brave domestic cock,
The raven, swan, and jay.

Of fishes-every size and shape,
Which nature frames of light escape,
Devouring man to shun:

The shells are in the wealthy deep,
The shoals upon the surface leap,
And love the glancing sun.

Of beasts-the beaver plods his task;
While the sleek tigers roll and bask,
Nor yet the shades arouse;

Her cave the mining coney scoops;
Where o'er the mead the mountain stoops,
The kids exult and browse.

Of gems-their virtue and their price,
Which, hid in earth from man's device,

Their darts of lustre sheathe;

The jasper of the master's stamp,

The topaz blazing like a lamp,

Among the mines beneath.

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80

THE PSALMS OF DAVID.

Blest was the tenderness he felt,

When to his graceful harp he knelt,
And did for audience call;

When Satan with his hand he quelled,
And in serene suspense he held

The frantic throes of Saul.

CHRISTOPHER SMART.

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