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The cross of Christ is ay before bis eyes.
O how I love with melted soul to leave
The house of prayer, and wander in the fields
Alone! What tho' the op'ning spring be chill!
What tho' the lark, check'd in his airy path,
Eke out his song, perch'd on the fallow clod,
That still o'ertops the blade! What tho' no branch
Have spread its foliage, save the willow wand,
That dips its pale leaves in the swollen stream!
What tho' the clouds oft low'r ! their threats but end

son of Jonas, lovest thou me? He saith unto him, Yea, Lord, thou knowest that I love thee. He saith unto him, Feed my sheep. He saith unto him the third time, Simon, son of Jonas, lovest thou me? Peter was grieved, hecause he said unto him the third time, .Lovest thou me? And he said unto him, Lord, thou knowest all things, thou knowest that I love thee. Jesus saith unto him, Feed mv sheep." Joun, *xi. 15.—17.

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In sunny showers, that scarcely fill the folds
Of moss-couch'd violet, or interrupt
The merle's dulcet pipe,—melodious bird!
He, hid behind the milk-white sloe-thorn spray,
(Whose early flowers anticipate the leaf,)
Welcomes the time of buds, the infant year.

Sweet is the sunny nook, to which my steps Have brought me, hardly conscious where I

roam'd, Unheeding where,—so lovely, all around, The works of God, array'd in vernal smile!

Oft at this season musing I prolong My devious range, till, sunk from view, the sun Emblaze, with upward-slanting ray, the breast And wing unquiv'ring of the wheeling lark, G

Descending vocal from her latest flight,
While, disregardful of yon lonely star,—
The harbinger of chill night's glittering host,—
Sweet Redbreast, Scotia's Philomela, chants,
In desultory strains, his evening hymn-

SUMMER SABBATH WALK.

.delightful is this loneliness; it calms
My heart: pleasant the cool beneath these elrtfs
That throw across the stream a moveless shade.
Here nature in her midnoon whisper speaks;
How peaceful every sound!—the ring-dove's

plaint,
Moan'd from the forest's gloomiest retreat,
While every other woodland lay is mute,

Save when the wren flits from her down-cov'd

nest, And from the root-sprigs trills her ditty clear,— The grasshopper's oft-pausing chirp,—the buzz, Angrily shrill, of moss-entangled bee, That soon as loos'd booms with full twang away,— The sudden rushing of the minnow shoal Scar'd from the shallows by my passing tread. Dimpling the water glides, with here and there A glossy fly, skimming in circlets gay The treacherous surface, while the quick-eyed

trout Watches his time to spring; or from above, Some feather'd dam, purveying 'mong the boughs, Darts from her perch, and to her plumeless brood Bears off the prize.—Sad emblem of man's lot! He, giddy insect, from his native leaf,

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