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Universal Praise.

Soft-roll your incense, herbs, and fruits, and flowers,
In mingled clouds to Him ; whose sun exalts,
Whose breath perfumes you, and whose pencil paints.
Ye forests bend, ye harvests wave, to Him ;
Breathe your still song into the reaper's heart,

As home he goes beneath the joyous moon.
Ye that keep watch in heaven, as earth asleep
Unconscious lies, effuse your mildest beams,
Ye constellations, while your angels strike,
Amid the spangled sky, the silver lyre.

65 Great source of day! best image here below Of thy Creator, ever pouring wide, From world to world, the vital ocean round, On Nature write with every beam His praise. The thunder rolls: be hushed the prostrate world ; 70 While cloud to cloud returns the solemn hymn. Bleat out afresh ye hills : ye mossy rocks, Retain the sound : the broad responsive low, Ye valleys, raise ; for the Great Shepherd reigns ; And his unsuffering kingdom yet will come. Ye woodlands all, awake: a boundless song Burst from the groves ! and when the restless day, Expiring, lays the warbling world asleep, Sweetest of birds ! sweet Philomela, charm The listening shades, and teach the night his praise. 80 Ye chief, for whom the whole creation smiles, At once the head, the heart, and tongue of all, Crown the great hymn! in swarming cities vast, Assembled men, to the deep organ join The long-resounding voice, oft breaking clear, 85 At solemn pauses through the swelling base ; And, as each mingling Aame increases each, In one united ardour rise to heaven.


Universal Praise.




Or if you rather choose the rural shade,
And find a fane in every sacred grove ;
There let the shepherd's flute, the virgin's lay,
The prompting seraph, and the poet's lyre,
Still sing the God of Seasons as they roll.
For me, when I forget the darling theme,
Whether the blossom blows, the Summer-ray
Russets the plain, inspiring Autumn gleams;
Or Winter rises in the blackening east ;
Be my tongue mute, my fancy paint no more,
And, dead to joy, forget my heart to beat !

Should fate command me to the farthest verge
Of the green earth, to distant barbarous climes,
Rivers unknown to song ; where first the sun
Gilds Indian mountains, or his setting beam
Flames on the Atlantic isles ; 'tis naught to me :
Since God is ever present, ever felt,
In the void waste as in the city full ;
And where He vital breathes, there must be joy.
When even at last the solemn hour shall come,
And wing my mystic flight to future worlds,
I chearful will obey ; there, with new powers,
Will rising wonders sing : I cannot go
Where Universal Love smiles not around,
Sustaining all yon orbs, and all their suns ;
From seeming Evil still educing Good,
And Better thence again, and Better still,
In infinite progression. But I lose
Myself in Him, in Light ineffable :
Come then, expressive silence, muse His praise !


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with a commentary Magna Charta, by the late Francis Stoughton Sulli. van, L L. D.To which a Discourse is prefixed con. cerning the Laws and Government of England, by Gilbert Stuart, L L. D. First American Edition, 2 vols. 8vo.

Of the above mentioned work the Boston Reviewers say—“This edition is printed with unusual neatness, on good paper, and with a fair type. In justice to the publisher, and on account of the merit of the performance, we recommend it to the perusal of American students. Should we be asked why we recommend to the American student a book on the feudal system, we answer, that it is impossible to understand the English writers, through the medium of whose productions we must seek for the law and practice of our own country, without a knowledge of this system.”

STUDY AND PRACTICE OF LAW, Considered in their various relations io Society, by James

Mackintosh, now a Judge of the Supreme Court of Bengal, in the East Indies.

Of this work the reviewers say— The author of this excellent work is well known by his literary productions. He was first the antagonist and then the friend of Edmund Burke. As a lawyer, Mr. Mackintosh is esteemed no less for his great legal knowledge and penetration, than he is for his elegance and perspicuity as a writer. .. It might be said, we presume, with perfect propriety, that of all his works, there is no one which possesses more sterling merit than the present. The manner and the matter are alike admirable. It might indeed appear superfluous to descant upon its extraordinary claims to celebrity, when we consider Irow well it is established in the opinion of the professional and literary world."


T. B. Wait & Co. at their Book Store, bottom of Fishe Street, Portland, have constantly for sale, on very low terms,

general assortment of Books and Stationary.

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