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Hymn before Sunrise in the Vale of Chamouny.
Awake, my soul! Not only passive praise
Thou, first and chief, sole sovereign of the vale !
Companion of the morning star at dawn,
And you, ye five wild torrents, fiercely glad !
Ye ice-falls ! ye, that, from the mountain's brow,
Ye living flowers, that skirt the eternal frost !
Thou, too, hoar mount! with thy sky-pointing peaks,
Calista, or Spiritual-Mindedness.-CHRISTIAN OBSERVER.
rn of pious parents, and early imbibed, from their lessons and examples, the best principles of Christianity. These gradually matured with her understanding; and, in the midst of friendship and domestic happiness, life seemed to be opening upon her with unclouded brightness. Calista was entering upon her nineteenth year, when she was suddenly attacked by an alarming epidemic disorder. Its violence soon exhausted itself, and she revived ; but the functions of life were fatally disturbed, and the vigor of her constitution annihilated. She lived, indeed, during several years; but life was little more than a protracted disease, tending slowly to its consummation. Thus, as it were in an instant, at that period when both our powers and our expectations of enjoyment are generally
the most lively, the face of nature was suddenly obscured, and a funeral pall thrown over the whole of her earthly exist
All the bright visions that play before a young imagination, the day-dreams of hope, that please and occupy, even while they deceive us, were for her at once blotted out. The delighted and delightful activity of youthful gaiety, the animated pleasures of social intercourse, the endearments of conjugal tenderness, she was forbid to share. Surely, under such privations, her spirit quickly sunk into a deep and settled sadness! Far otherwise. The gay and sprightly vivacity of her early years was succeeded by a gentle serenity, which silently took possession of her bosom. Her eye no longer sparkled with rapture; her countenance was lighted up no more to radiant happiness; yet a gleam of softened joy was shed upon her features, and an expression, dearer even than beauty, of love, resignation and thankfulness, spoke the sunshine of a pure and angel spirit. Her sufferings, though great, appeared but little to distress, and scarcely at all to occupy her. Those who saw her only occasionally did not immediately discover that she was ill; and they who were constantly with her would hardly have perceived it, if her faint voice and feeble step had not too clearly indicated what no impatient or querulous emotion ever betrayed. It was only a few weeks before her death, that, to a friend who inquired after a sick relative, she spoke of the state of his improvement with a sensible delight, and, being at length obliged to say something of her own health, alluded to it slightly, with that unaffected ease which showed that she considered it only as a subject of very secondary interest. At length the symptoms of her disorder began to assume a decisive character ; her pains increased, and her strength diminished. At the visible approach of death, the feebleness of her nature trembled. Of acute feelings, quickened by disease to an agonizing sensibility, she was unable to anticipate the pangs of dissolution without experiencing a silent terror, which she in vain struggled to conceal. Her
friends beheld the conflict, and wept in secret. They had no power to sustain her weakness, nor any counsel to impart, which her own piety and experience had not rendered familiar to her. The struggle continued and increased till the second day before her death, and then it ceased for ever! What passed within her bosom at that hour, what blessed consolations descended to her from above, He only knows who sees her soul ; but from that time anxiety and terror fled away; even her bodily sufferings appeared to be suspended, and a smile of heavenly gladness animated her countenance. She could converse but little, for nature was nearly exhausted ; yet she cheered with the accents of piety and affection those who were gathered round her. She remembered every one that was dear to her, and distributed little mementos of love and gratitude. She listened with tranquil devotion to the sacred offices of the church, and partook of the memorials of that blessed sacrifice to which alone she trusted for acceptance. She sunk softly into a gentle slumber, and slept to wake no more! Her parents followed her to the grave, shed over her the tears of mingled thankfulness and affliction, and marked with a simple stone the turf that lies lightly on her.
“ There shall the morn her earliest tears bestow;
There the first roses of the year shall blow;
Lament for Mary.-CHARLES WOLFE.
If I had thought thou couldst have died,
I might not weep for thee;
That thou couldst mortal be: