Unfolds his blissful heaven above,

And glory for his children there; While those who slight his offered love Shall sink to darkness and despair.

There, also, is enough revealed,
To guide us in the way we go;
And what his wisdom has concealed
Might be but misery to know.

O, then adore th' eternal Mind

With wonder, gratitude, and fear; Nor seek, what man may never find, The knowledge of his essence here.

ON OPENING OUR ORGAN,

November 9, 1822.

Tune, GREAT MILTON.

ALL nature's works His praise declare,

To whom they all belong;
There is a voice in every star,

In every breeze a song.

Sweet music fills the world abroad
With strains of love and power;
The stormy sea sings praise to God,
The thunder and the shower.

To God the tribes of ocean cry,
And birds upon the wing;

To God the powers that dwell on high
Their tuneful tribute bring.

Like them let man the throne surround,
With them loud chorus raise,
While instruments of loftier sound

Assist his feeble praise.

Great God, to thee we consecrate

Our voices and our skill;

We bid the pealing organ wait

To speak alone thy will.

O, teach its rich and swelling notes To lift our souls on high;

And while the music round us floats, Let earth-born passion die.

OUR SOCIETY'S AUTHORS.

READ TO THE . B. K. AFTER THE ANNUAL DINNER,

August 29, 1839.

I SPEAK you no speech, and I sing you no song, And I hope not to keep you a minute too long; I but rise to propose that you drink, as a toast, "Our Society's Authors;" not one, - but a host.

I premise, that perhaps you're not fully awareThough I am - how many and noted they are. Of those, in whose honors our land is so happy, How many belong to the Phi Beta Kappa! To recite all their names I by no means insist; 'Twere a little too long for a post-dinner list. I leave out each annual poet and orator : That catalogue doubtless we all have memoriter. I leave out the Philistine phalanx of editors, Accounting them rather our debtors than creditors. And I silently pass, to save patience and time, All mere pamphleteers, both in prose and in rhyme. I propose but the bonos, meliores, et pessimos, Who appear in octavos and large duodecimos. (And thus I escape all allusion to self;

For no big book of mine burdens any one's shelf.)

First, gravely we fill, with our waters or wines,
To the names of the gravest · our brother DIVINES.
And, beginning at home, I produce on the scene
Our brother the Editor,- no more the Dean,
Whose two ample octaves, erelong to be five,
Are enough to make any man's memory thrive;
Then Norton, the critic, sagacious, profound,
The fervent cloud-hater, who builds on firm ground;
And Harris, whose learned work, prized at a high rate,
Has twice been purloined by a base British pirate;
Our modest translator of prophecy, Noyes,

And the other translators, whose versions rejoice
The students that plod through the tomes of Mosheim,
Or seek the Eclectic, or love German rhyme;

-

Then Burnap and Furness· - each one with a volume;
And Jenks, too, with quarto, close printed and solemn;
And Dewey, whose travels and sermons are fame;
And Channing, the shout of whose eloquent name,
As a dear benediction or proud acclamation,
Rings loud from the echoes of every known nation.

as before,

Fill, next, to the LAWYERS, whose regal delight Is in extra-sized octaves, bound neatly in white. And here, - to begin with a resident, We drink to the Author, the Judge, and our President; Felix prole Librum and each one a star,

all lights of the bar.

And around him arranged, lo! an eminent band,
Of Sullivan, Pickering, Phillips, and Rand,
- And others demanding our hearty applause,
Who honor their country by serving her laws.

In order of merit and honor next follow The diploma'd disciples of HEALING APOLLO: