Pride, with haughty port, defies in vain The force of rough adversity, which rends With double violence the stubborn heart. But, like a tender plant, _Humility_ Bends low before the threat’ning blast unhurt, Eludes its rage, and lives through all the storm. Pride is the livery of the prince of darkness, Worn by his slaves, who glory in their shame; A gaudy dress, but tarnish’d, rent and foul, And loathsome to the holy eye of heaven. But sweet _humility_, a shining robe, Bestowed by heaven upon its favourite sons; The robe which God approves and angels wear-- Fair semblance of the glorious Prince of Light, Who stoop’d to dwell (divine _humility_!) With sinful worms, and poverty, and scorn. Pride leads her wretched votaries to contempt, To certain ruin, infamy, and death. But sweet _humility_ points out the way To happiness, and life, and lasting honours. _Humility_ how glorious! how divine! Thus clothed, and thus enrich’d, O may I shine; Be mine this treasure, this celestial robe, And let the sons of pride possess the globe. _Mrs. Steele._ HYMN. And when they had sung an _hymn_, they went out into the Mount of Olives.--Matthew, xxvi. 30. Whose business was to serve their Lord, High up in heav’n with songs to _hymn_ His throne. * * * * * They touched their golden harps, and _hymning_ praised God and His works. _Milton._ Then, kneeling down, to Heaven’s Eternal King The saint, the father, and the husband prays: Hope “springs exulting on triumphant wing,” That thus they all shall meet in future days: There ever bask in uncreated rays, No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear; Together _hymning_ their Creator’s praise, In such society yet still more dear, When circling time moves round, in an eternal sphere. _Burns._ They chant their artless notes in simple guise; They tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim: Perhaps “Dundee’s” wild warbling measures rise, Or plaintive “Martyrs,” worthy of the name; Or noble “Elgin” feeds the heav’n-ward flame, The sweetest far of Scotia’s holy lays: Compared with these, Italian trills are tame; The tickl’d ear no heart-felt raptures raise; Nae unison hae they with our Creator’s praise. _Burns._ There is no gloom on earth, for God above Chastens in love; Transmuting sorrow into golden joy, Free from alloy. His dearest attribute is still to bless, And man’s most welcome _hymn_ is grateful cheerfulness. _Horace Smith._