Who bade these various orbs in order move?

Who bade the ocean's waves tumultuous roar?

Who bade the feather'd songsters of the grove
Their tributary notes harmonious pour?

A God! a bounteous God! his matchless power,
His wisdom, and his goodness all proclaim,

But chief should man that providence adore,

Which form'd with hand divine the human frame,

And gave to earthly dust a spirit's vital flame.

But not creative power alone we praise,

The time must come, when, seiz'd with fervent heat,

The elements shall melt; in dreadful blaze

All nature's funeral pile the eye shall meet.

The world shall leave no traces of its seat,

The things that once have been shall cease to be;

But mercy, pleading at thy judgement seat,

Shall still prevail. From doubt, from terror free, Redemption's perfect plan shall fix our rest in Thee.

For this, on Bethlehem's plains at dead of night,

Angelic hosts announc'd Messiah's reign;

At first the shepherds trembled with affright,
But, as they listen'd to the sacred strain,

They soon confest their fears, their terrors vain.
They heard the song with holy humble joy,

Which flow'd symphonious from the seraph train,
Proclaiming glory unto Thee on high,

Good will to Man, and peace to all beneath the sky.

Oh gift unspeakable of love divine!

The christian's comfort, and the prophet's theme,

Eternal word! thy light shall ceaseless shine,

Though man perceives not its awakening beam.

Deceiv'd by sensual pleasure's fatal dream,

Or dazzl'd by ambition's splendid toys,

He sails unthinking down life's rapid stream:

"The still small voice," too often drown'd in noise,

Whispers, alas! in vain, the fate of human joys.

Yet, Gracious Father! plead thy sacred cause:

To thee the secrets of all hearts are known.

There are who violate thy righteous laws,

Who know thy will, and yet perform their own.

Oh! be to such thy boundless mercy shown,

Attract to virtue by thy cords of love,

Hear Thou the prisoner's sigh, the sinner's groan,

Th' unequal conflict shall thy pity move,

And draw compassion down from every saint above!

MY LUCY.

"No idly-feign'd poetic pains

My sad love-lorn lamentings claim;
No shepherd's pipe, Arcadian strains;
No fabled tortures, quaint and tame :
The plighted faith; the mutual flame;

The oft attested pow'rs above:

The promis'd father's tender name:

These were the pledges of my love!"-BURNS.

OH Thou! from earth for ever fled!

Whose reliques lie among the dead

With daisied verdure overspread,

My Lucy!

For

many a weary

month gone by,

How many a solitary sigh

I've heav'd for thee, no longer nigh,

My Lucy!

And if to grieve I cease awhile,

I look for that enchanting smile

Which all my cares could once beguile,

My Lucy!

But ah! in vain. The blameless art,

Which sooth'd to peace my troubled heart,

Is lost with thee, my better part!

My Lucy!

Thy converse innocently free,

That bade the fiends of fancy flee

'Tis there I find the want of thee,

My Lucy!