COWPER'S GRAVE.

Nor ever shall he be in praise,

By wise or good forsaken;

Named softly, as the household name
Of one whom God hath taken !

With sadness that is calm, not gloom,
I learn to think upon him;
With meekness that is gratefulness,

On God whose heaven hath won him-
Who suffered once the madness cloud,
Toward His love to blind him ;
But gently led the blind along

Where breath and bird could find him;

And wrought within his shattered brain,
Such quick poetic senses,

As hills have language for, and stars,
Harmonious influences !

The pulse of dew upon the grass,
His own did calmly number;
And silent shadow from the trees
Fell o'er him like a slumber.

The very world, by God's constraint
From falsehood's chill removing,

Its women and its men became,

Beside him, true and loving!

And timid hares were drawn from woods,

To share his home caresses,

Uplooking to his human eyes
With sylvan tendernesses.

But while, in blindness he remained
Unconscious of the guiding,

And things provided came without

The sweet sense of providing,

189

COWPER'S GRAVE.

What frantic hands outstretched, have e'er

The atoning drops averted

What tears have washed them from the soul-
That one should be deserted?

Deserted! God could separate

From His own essence rather:
And Adam's sins have swept between
The righteous Son and Father-
Yea! once, Immanuel's orphaned cry,
This universe hath spoken-
It went up single, echoless,
"My God, I am forsaken!"

It went up from the Holy's lips
Amid his lost creation,

That of the lost, no son should use

Those words of desolation;

That earth's worst frenzies, marring hope,

Should mar not hope's fruition;

And I, on Cowper's Grave, should see

His rapture, in a vision !

E. B. BARRETT.

YES-when the desert creature's heart, at fault
Amid the scattering tempest's pillar'd sands
Betrays its steps into the pathless drifts-
The calm instructed eye of man holds fast,
By the sole bearing of the visible star,
Sure that when slow the whirling wreck subsides,
The boundaries, lost now, shall be found again,
The Palm Trees and the Pyramid over all!

R. BROWNING.

191

An Angel Visit.

ON the evening of one 31st. of December, I had been cherishing the humiliating and solemn reflections which are peculiarly suitable to the close of the year, and endeavouring to bring my mind to that view of the past, best calculated to influence the future. I had attempted to recall the prominent incidents of the twelve months which had elapsed; and in this endeavour, I was led frequently to regret how little my memory could retain even of that which was most important to be remembered.—I could not avoid at such a periód, looking forwards as well as backwards, and anticipating that fearful tribunal at which no occurrence shall be forgotten; whilst my imagination penetrated into the distant destinies which shall be dependent on its decisions. At my usual hour. I retired to rest, but the train of meditation I had pursued was so important and appropriate, that imagination continued it after sense had slumbered. In thoughts from the visions of the night, when deep sleep falleth upon man," I was mentally concerned in the following scene of interest.

I imagined myself still adding, link after link, to the chain of reflection, the progress of which the time for repose had interrupted; and whilst thus engaged, I was aware that there remained but a few moments to complete the day. I heard the clock as it tolled the knell of another year, and as it rung slowly the appointed number, each note was followed by a sting of conscience, bitterly reproaching me for my neglect of precious time. The last stroke was ringing in my ears—painful as the groan announcing the departure of a valuable friend —when, notwithstanding the meditative posture in which I was sitting, I perceived that the dimness of the apartment suddenly became brighter; and on lifting my eyes to discover the cause, I was terrified at discovering that another being was

with me in my seclusion. I saw one before me whose form indeed was human; but the bright burning glance of his eye, and the dazzling splendour that beamed forth from every part of his beautifully proportioned form, convinced me at a glance, that it was no mortal being that I saw. The elevation of his brow gave dignity of the highest order to his countenance; but the most acute observation was indicated by his piercing eye, and inexorable justice was imprinted on his majestic features. A glittering phylactery encircled his head, upon which was written in letters of fire, "The Faithful One." Under one arm he bore two volumes; in his hand he held a pen. I instantly knew the recording angel-the secretary of the terrible tribunal of heaven. With a trembling which convulsed my frame, I heard his unearthly voice, "Mortal," he said, thou wast longing to recall the events of the past year—thou art permitted to gaze upon the record of the book of God. Peruse and be wise." As he spoke thus he opened before me, one of the volumes which he had brought.

In fearful apprehension, I read in it my own name, and recognised the history of my own life during the past year, with all its minutest particulars. Burning words were those which that volume contained: all the actions and circumstances of my life were registered in that dreadful book, each under its respective head. I was first struck with the title of "Mercies received." Some were there, the remembrance of which I had retained-more which were recalled, after having been forgotten, but the far greater number had never been noticed at all. Oh what a detail of preservation, and deliverances, and invitations, and warnings, and privileges, and bestowments! I remember that "Sabbaths" stood out in very prominent characters, as if they had been among the greatest benefits. In observing the recapitulation, I could not but be struck with one circumstance-it was, that many dispensations, which I had considered as calamities, were enumerated here as blessings.