THE DEITY. BY MISS MARY GARDINER, OF SHELTER-ISLAND, SUFFOLK COUNTY.

Beneath the quenchless light Of the broad day-god's life-imparting ray, Wrapt in the gloomy clouds of mental night That round him thickly lay, The ancient Persian bowed, and at that shrine Worshipped the glorious effluence as divine. Thou! whose creative voice Called from the depths of chaos form and might, Bade at a word unnumbered worlds rejoice In that effulgent light; Sun of the Universe! to Thee I bow, Almighty God! list to my humble offering now! Before the stars of night In circling systems moved through yonder sky, Thou! from Eternity's unmeasured height, Wrapt in immensity, Beheld the earth chaotic solitude, And ages roll away in their infinitude. Can human thought explore The boundaries of Thy kingdom, or define Mid all the orbs that sweep the blue vault o'er Those that remotest shine? E'en Science pauses in her proud career, Furls her tired wing and sinks o'erwhelmed to Earth's low sphere. Before her glancing eye The clouds of ignorance have rolled away; She calls the lightning from its throne on high, And marks the planet's way; Bids the frail bark o'er Ocean's bosom glide, And from her mystic cells rolls back the heaving tide. And in her search sublime, Measures the sunbeam in its trackless flight; Earth yields her secrets, and both space and time Are subject to her might: E'en from the unseen air the mysteries flee, But Thou! Eternal One! no searching can find Thee! Thy voice of majesty Throughout creation's wide expanse is heard; In the low South-wind's fitful melody, The music of the bird; When by the tempest-breath the clouds are riven, And the loud thunder peals through the deep vault of Heaven. And in the measured chime Of low waves dashing on the sunny shore, The streamlet's flow in the bright southern clime, The cataract's loud roar, And the hollow moan of the restless sea, When the storm-spirit sweeps on pinion swift and free. And to the human soul, Speaks not Thy still small voice in accents strong? Bidding Remorse like scorching lava roll Its fearful tide along; Blighting and withering all that yet is fair, As blasting winds that sweep upon the desert air. And when the burning tears Of heart-felt penitence before Thee fall, And from thick gloom and agonizing fears Ascends the fervent call; Thy voice of mercy bids Hope's angel form Shine like a beacon-light amid the wild night-storm. It soothes to calm repose The fitful quivering of the spirit's lyre, And falls, as rain-drops o'er the dying rose, On passion's wasting fire; It bids us hasten o'er Life's waters home, As summer breezes call the bird o'er ocean's foam. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Lo! in yon darkened room Glad angels wait to bear a soul away; Death waves his pinions, and the fearful tomb Opes to receive its prey: Low, dirge-like music stirs the troubled air; Hushed is each voice, each breath, for Thou, O God! art there. Swift o'er the marble brow The cold dews gather; oh! what hand shall guide The trembling spirit on its passage now To regions yet untried? Raise the dark veil hung o'er that mystic land, And light the wanderer's path from time's receding sand? The starless night of thought Was lit at Mercy's shrine with purest ray, And heavenly truth so long, so vainly sought, Shone forth in its mid-day; As angels tuned their harps to higher strains, And rose the star of peace o'er Bethlehem's hallowed plains. Then the Incarnate came, Veiling his God-head in the human form; Not with the clarion's voice, the trump of fame, The earthquake and the storm: He came—the living God, creation's King! Humble, despised, unknown—joy, 'peace on earth' to bring! Oh' fearful was the hour When Vengeance poured on his devoted head The wrath of ages, and stern Death had power His fiery shafts to shed; The sun his radiance veiled in midnight gloom, And woke to life and light the tenants of the tomb. Mysterious Three in One! My spirit bows, by matchless love o'erwrought; Thyself all-knowing yet by all unknown, Beyond the height of thought! Justice and Mercy in thy works combine, As o'er the raging flood the glittering rain-bows shine. Thou watchest o'er the birth Of every flower that springs to bloom and die, The sparrow falls not to the breast of earth Unnoticed by thine eye; And suns and systems at thy glance have passed. As withered leaves are swept before the wintry blast. And when the voice of Time Shall chant the death-dirge o'er Earth's ruined fanes; When the archangel's voice in tones sublime Shall echo o'er her plains; Unchanged, unchanging, Thou shalt rise o'er all, While Nature's face shall rest beneath Oblivion's pall.