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O LORD, our Lord,


How excellent is thy name in all the earth!
Who hast set thy glory above the heavens !
Out of the mouth of babes and sucklings
Hast thou ordained strength,

Because of thine enemies,

That thou mightest still the enemy and the avenger.
When I consider thy heavens, the work of thy fingers,
The moon and the stars which thou hast ordained;
What is man, that thou art mindful of him?

Or the son of man, that thou visitest him?

For thou hast made him a little lower than the angels,

And hast crowned him with glory and honor,

Thou madest him to have dominion over the works of thy hands Thou hast put all things under his feet:

All sheep and oxen,

Yea, and the beasts of the field;

The fowl of the air, and the fish of the sea,

And whatsoever passeth through the paths of the seas.

O Lord, our Lord,

How excellent is thy name in all the earth!

The Lord is my shepherd;

I shall not want.

He maketh me to lie down in green pastures,

He leadeth me beside the still waters,

He restoreth my soul:

He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil, for thou art with me;

Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.

Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies; Thou anointest my head with oil;

My cup runneth over.

Surely mercy and goodness will follow me all the days of my life; And I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

Oh that men would praise the Lord for his goodness,
And for his wonderful works to the children of men!
They that go down to the sea in ships,

That do business in great waters;

These see the works of the Lord,

And his wonders in the deep.

For he commandeth, and raiseth the stormy wind,
Which lifteth up the waves thereof.

They mount up to the heaven,

They go down again to the depths:

Their soul is melted because of trouble.

They reel to and fro, and stagger like a drunken man,
And are at their wit's end.

Then they cry unto the Lord in their trouble,
And he bringeth them out of their distresses;
He maketh the storm a calm,

So that the waves thereof are still.

Then are they glad because they be quiet;

So he bringeth them unto their desired haven.

Oh that men would praise the Lord for his goodness,
And for his wonderful works to the children of men!

O come! let us sing unto the Lord;

Let us make a joyful noise to the rock of our salvation.
Let us come before his presence with thanksgiving,
And make a joyful noise unto him with psalms.

For the Lord is a great God,

And a great King above all gods.

In his hand are the deep places of the earth:

The strength of the hills is his also.

The sea is his, and he made it;

And his hands formed the dry land.

O come! let us worship and bow down ;

Let us kneel before the Lord our Maker,

For he is our God;

And we are the people of his pasture, and the sheep of his hand.

To-day if ye will hear his voice,

Harden not your hearts, as in the provocation,

And as in the day of temptation in the wilderness,

When your fathers tempted me,

Proved me, and saw my work.

Forty years long was I grieved with this generation,

And said, it is a people that do err in their heart,
And they have not known my ways:

Unto whom I sware in my wrath,
That they should not enter my rest.





THE plumage of the mocking-bird, though none of the homeliest, has nothing gaudy or brilliant in it, and had he nothing else to recommend him, would scarcely entitle him to notice; but his figure is well proportioned, and even handsome. The ease, elegance, and rapidity of his movements, the animation of his eye, and the intelligence he displays in listening, and laying up lessons from almost every species of the feathered creation within his hearing, are really surprising, and mark the peculiarity of his genius. To these qualities we may add that of a voice, full, strong, and musical, and capable of almost every modulation, from the clear, mellow tones of the wood-thrush, to the savage screams of the bald-eagle.

In measure and accent, he faithfully follows his originals. In force and sweetness of expression, he greatly improves upon them. In his native groves, mounted upon the top of a tall bush or half-grown tree, in the dawn of dewy morning, while the woods are already vocal with a multitude of warblers, his admirable song rises pre-eminent over every competitor. The ear can listen to his music alone, to which that of all the others seems a mere accompaniment. Neither is this strain altogether imitative. His own native notes, which are easily distinguishable by such as are well acquainted with those of our various birds of song, are bold and full, and varied, seemingly, beyond all limits. They consist of short expressions of two, three, or, at the most, five or six syllables, generally interspersed with imitations, and all of them uttered with great emphasis and rapidity, and continued, with undiminished ardor, for half an hour or an hour, at a time; his expanded wings and tail, glistening with white, and the buoyant gayety of his action, arresting the eye, as his song most irresistibly does the ear.

He sweeps round with enthusiastic ecstasy; he mounts and descends, as his song swells or dies away, and, as my friend Mr. Bartram has beautifully expressed it," he bounds aloft with the celerity of an arrow, as if to recover or recall his very soul, which expired in the last elevated strain." While thus exerting himself, a bystander, destitute of sight, would suppose that

the whole feathered tribes had assembled together on a trial of skill, each striving to produce his utmost effect; so perfect are his imitations. He many times deceives the sportsman, and sends him in search of birds that perhaps are not within miles of him, but whose notes he exactly imitates. Even birds themselves are frequently imposed on by this admirable mimic, and are decoyed by the fancied calls of their mates, or dive, with precipitation, into the depths of thickets, at the scream of what they suppose to be the sparrow-hawk.

The mocking-bird loses little of the power and energy of his song by confinement. In his domesticated state, when he commences his career of song, it is impossible to stand by uninterested. He whistles for the dog; Cæsar starts up, wags his tail, and runs to meet his master. He squeaks out like a hurt chicken; and the hen hurries about, with hanging wings and bristled feathers, clucking to protect her injured brood. The barking of the dog, the mewing of the cat, the creaking of a passing wheelbarrow, follow with great truth and rapidity. He repeats the tune taught him by his master, though of considerable length, fully and faithfully. He runs over the quiverings of the canary, and the clear whistlings of the Virginia nightingale or red-bird, with such superior execution and effect, that the mortified songsters feel their own inferiority and become altogether silent, while he seems to triumph in their defeat, by redoubling his exertions.

This excessive fondness for variety, however, in the opinion of some, injures his song. His elevated imitations of the brown thrush are frequently interrupted by the crowing of cocks: and the warblings of the blue-bird, which he exquisitely manages, are mingled with the screaming of swallows, or the cackling of hens; amid the simple melody of the robin, we are suddenly surprised by the shrill reiterations of the whip-poor-will; while the notes of the killdeer, blue jay, martin, baltimore, and twenty others, succeed, with such imposing reality, that we look round for the originals, and discover, with astonishment, that the sole performer in this singular concert, is the admirable bird now before us.

During this exhibition of his powers, he spreads his wings, expands his tail, and throws himself around the cage in all the ecstasy of enthusiasm, seeming not only to sing, but to dance,

keeping time to the measure of his own music. Both in his native and domesticated state, during the solemn stillness of the night, as soon as the moon rises in silent majesty, he begins his delightful solo, and serenades us, the livelong night, with a full display of his vocal powers, making the whole neighborhood ring with his inimitable melody.




OH! what will become of thee, poor little bird?
The muttering storm in the distance is heard ;
The rough winds are waking, the clouds growing black,
They'll soon scatter snow-flakes all over thy back!
From what sunny clime hast thou wandered away?
And what art thou doing this cold winter day?
"I'm picking the gum from the old peach-tree;
The storm does n't trouble me. Pee, dee, dee."
But what makes thee seem so unconscious of care?
The brown earth is frozen, the branches are bare:
And how canst thou be so light-hearted and free,
As if danger and suffering thou never should'st see,
When no place is near for thy evening nest?
No leaf for thy screen, for thy bosom no rest?
"Because the same hand is a shelter for me,
That took off the summer leaves. Pee, dee, dee."

But man feels a burden of care and of grief,
While plucking the cluster and binding the sheaf,
In the summer we faint, in the winter we're chilled,
With ever a void that is yet to be filled.

We take from the ocean, the earth, and the air,
Yet all their rich gifts do not silence our care.

"A very small portion sufficient will be,
If sweetened with gratitude. Pee, dee, dee.”

I thank thee, bright monitor; what thou hast taught,
Will oft be the theme of the happiest thought;

We look at the clouds, while the birds have an eye
To Him who reigns over them, changeless and high.

And now, little hero, just tell me thy name,
That I may be sure whence my oracle came.

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