Once more, hoar _mount_! with thy sky-pointing peak, Oft from whose feet the avalanche, unheard, Shoots downward, glittering through the pine serene, Into the depths of clouds that veil thy breast-- Thou too again stupendous _mountain_! thou That, as I raise my head, awhile bow’d low In adoration, upward from thy base Slow-travelling with dim eyes suffused with tears, Solemnly seemest, like a vapoury cloud, To rise before me--rise, O ever rise, Rise like a cloud of incense from the earth! Thou kingly spirit throned amongst the hills. Thou dread ambassador from earth to heaven, Great Hierarch! tell thou the silent sky, And tell the stars, and tell yon rising sun, Earth, with her thousand voices, praises God. _Coleridge._ Behold! the _mountain_ of the Lord In later days shall rise On _mountain_ tops above the hills, And draw the wondering eyes: To this the joyful nations round, All tribes and tongues shall flow; “Up to the hill of God,” they’ll say, And to his house we’ll go. The beam that shines from Zion’s hill, Shall lighten every land; The King who reigns in Salem’s towers, Shall all the world command. _Logan._ Calvary’s mournful _mountain_ climb; There, adoring at His feet, Mark that miracle of time, God’s own sacrifice complete. _J. Montgomery._ MOURNING. I am troubled; I am bowed down greatly; I go _mourning_ all the day long.--Psalm xxxviii. 6. Thy sun shall no more go down; neither shall thy moon withdraw itself: for the Lord shall be thine everlasting light, and the days of thy _mourning_ shall be ended.--Isaiah, lx. 20. Blessed are they that _mourn_: for they shall be comforted.--Matthew, v. 4. O man! while in thy early years, How prodigal of time! Misspending all thy precious hours, Thy glorious youthful prime! Alternate follies take the sway; Licentious passions burn; Which tenfold force gives nature’s law, That man was made to _mourn_. Many and sharp the num’rous ills Inwoven with our fame! More pointed still we make ourselves, Regret, remorse, and shame! And man, whose heaven-erected face The smiles of love adorn, Man’s inhumanity to man Makes countless thousands _mourn_. See yonder poor, o’erlabour’d wight; So abject, mean, and vile, Who begs a brother of the earth To give him leave to toil; And see his lordly fellow-worm The poor petition spurn, Unmindful tho’ a weeping wife And helpless offspring _mourn_.