m on the frozen rill,
To wake the voice that slumbereth, and call
To bear you company
In your glad hymnings, let the wretched own
He cannot be
Alone!

Never alone!--awake, my soul--on high
The glorious sun his thousand rays has flung
Athwart the vaulted sky--
Lo! there the heavens their mighty harp have strung,
The gold, the silver and the crimson chord,
To hymn their evening hymn unto the Lord.
Hark! heard ye not that glorious burst of song,
Which, touched by hands unseen, those chords sent forth,
Bidding the attuned spheres the notes prolong
Deeper and louder, till the trembling earth
Catcheth the thrilling strain--
Echoeth back again--
From the bosom of ocean a voice
Pealeth forth, and the mountains rejoice
And the plains and the woods and the valleys rebound,
And the Universe all is a creature of sound,
That runneth his race
Through the infinite regions of infinite space,
Till arrived at the throne
Of HIM who alone
Is worthy of honor and glory and praise.

And it is ever thus--morn, noon and eve,
And in the still midnight, undying
Choirs of creation's minstrels weave
Sweet symphony of incense, vying
In wrapt intricacy of endless songs.
Ever, oh ever thus they sing,
But to our soul's dull ear belongs
Seldom the trancing sense
To list the universal worshiping,
Thrill with the glorious theme, and drink its eloquence.

Mocking all our soul's desiring,
Distant now the notes are stealing,
And the minstrels high reining,
Drapery blue their forms concealing.

THE OCEAN-BURIED.

COMPOSED, AND DEDICATED TO MISSES HARRIET AND MARY HALSEY,

Of Blooming Grove, O. C., N. Y.,

BY MISS AGNES H. JONES.

=Andantino Soave=.

[Illustration: music]

"Bury me not in the deep, deep sea." The words came faint and mournfully,
From the pallid lips of a youth who lay On the cabin couch where,

[Illustration: music]

day by day, He had wasted and pined, till o'er his brow The death shade
had slowly pass'd, and now, When the land and his fond loved home were
nigh, They had gath'rd around to see him die.

Let my death-slumber be where a mother's prayer
And sister's tears can be blended there.
Oh, it will be sweet ere the heart's throb is o'er