And howling TEMPESTS scour amain From sea to land, from land to sea, And, raging, weave around a chain Of deepest, wildest energy; The scathing bolt with flashing glare Precedes the pealing thunder's way; And yet Thine Angels, LORD, revere The gentle movement of Thy day. TRIO. With strength the sight doth Angels fill, For power to fathom THEE hath none. The works of Thy supernal will Still glorious shine, as erst they shone. A NIGHT AND DAY AT VALPARAISO. BY ROBERT TOMES. As night came on, the steamer doubled the rocky cape, and, steaming with all its engine force, stood right for Valparaiso. Her speed soon slackened, and she began to feel her way cautiously, going ahead, backing, turning, and coming to a full stop. "Let go the anchor," was now the word, followed by a hoarse rumble of the chains and a noisy burst of steam. A fleet of shadowy ships and small craft surrounded us, and ahead glimmered the lights of the city, which, irregularly scattered about the dark hill-sides, appeared in the night like so many stars dimly twinkling through a broken rain cloud. With the quick instinct of the presence of a stranger, the dogs became at once conscious of our arrival, and began a noisy welcome of barks and yelps, which continued throughout the night. The port officials in tarnished gilt came alongside the steamer, had their talk with the captain and pushed off again. Two or three gusty-looking sea-captains boarded us, gave their rough grasps of welcome, drank off their stiff supplies of grog, and pulled back to their ships. Some few of the more impatient of our comrades turned out from the bottom of their trunks their "best," and went ashore in glossy coats and shining boots. Most of us, however, awaited the coming of the morning.