Poems

peak Of the cloud before the sun. THE RURAL POSTMAN'S SABBATH. The mellowed sounds of Sabbath bells Fall gently on my ear, And as they break in murmuring swells, My heart is tuned to prayer. In Sunday garb, all neatly clad, With joy upon each face, The dame and sire, and lass and lad, Approach the holy place. 'Tis true, in yonder sacred fane I cannot praise my King ; Yet in the meadow and the lane I will be worshiping. And, while I pray, a sweet response Shall rise from every stream, And all the little birds at once Shall chant the morning hymn. Oh, what a charm reigns o'er the scene, Beneath those dappled skies ! The cattle wear a pious mien, And earth is paradise. I ask no priests 'neath fretted dome Their holy prayers to read, No pew beside the marble tomb, When God is over-head. So here, beneath His loving eye, I'll worship and adore ; The vaulted heaven my canopy, The earth my temple floor. OUR DEVONSHIRE WORTHIES. The grand old men of Devonshire, How mighty is their name ! The glory of their deeds shall burn, An everlasting flame. Right sturdy, stalwart sons were they, And won a brave renown?- The brightest, purest gems of fame, In England's matchless crown. Our day the epithet of " great" May justly, proudly claim; For Knowledge hath with wisdom wed, And Truth is more than name : But let us stand upon the verge Of this our age sublime, And ...