How softly yonder pale star beams above my head to-night! How beautiful it appears in the azure vault of heaven where twilight holds the connecting link between day and night. Oh, if my soul were freed from its clayey fetters how swiftly it would fly (if such a journey were possible) to the boundaries of that sweet star! Can that fair planet, seemingly so pure and spotless, be inhabited by beings as frail and erring as ourselves? Can there be any sad souls there to- night— any who are weeping over blighted hopes and blasted prospects? It may be so; and yet perchance such a thing as a pang of sorrow and a burning tear are unknown, for it may be sin has never entered there. Vain, useless conjectures! But will the veil which hides the scenes of other worlds from our eyes never be withdrawn? … Surely it is because God is merciful that I have been spared through another day. I cannot forbear wondering that I have been spared so long,—that I have not been cut down as a cumberer of the ground. O God, according to thy loving-kindness preserve me. Grant that I may yet be an humble instrument in thy hand of doing something for the good of thy cause. Forgive my numberless sins and at last receive me to glory.—July 20, 1852.

It is a lovely scene; the sun has set,
But left his glory in the western sky
Where daylight lingers, half regretful yet
That sombre Night, her sister, draweth nigh,
And one pale star just looketh from on high;
'Tis neither day nor night, but both have lent
Their own peculiar charms to please the eye,—
Declining day its sultry heat has spent,
And calm, refreshing night its grateful coolness lent.

The lake is sleeping—on its quiet breast
Are clouds of every tint the rainbows wear,
Some are in crimson, some in gold are dressed.
Oh, had I wings, like yonder birds of air,
How I would love to dip my pinions there,
Then mount exulting to the heavenly gate,—
A song of love and gratitude to bear
To Him who gives the lowly and the great,
In earth, and sea, and sky, so glorious an estate.

It is the time when angels are abroad
Upon their work of love and peace to men,—
Commissioned from the dazzling throne of God,
They come to earth as joyfully as when
The tidings ran o'er mountain and o'er glen,
"A son is born, a Saviour and a King,"—
For they have tidings glorious as then,
Since tokens from our risen Lord they bring,
That life has been secured, and death has lost its sting.

The twilight deepens; o'er the distant hill
A veil is spread of soft and misty grey;
And from the lake, so beautiful and still,
The images of sunset fade away;
The twinkling stars come forth in bright array,
Which shunned the splendor of the noontide glare,—
A holy calm succeeds the bustling day.
And gentle voices stealing through the air,
Proclaim to hearts subdued the hour of grateful prayer.