But the unconquerable Jew acknowledged to himself, and to his brother, even there, as they fell upon his neck and wept, the _possibility_ of prayer being heard, the _possibility_ that the unchangeable God might be reached by supplication--and the _possibility_ that even a philosopher and a Jew might be mistaken. But---- A WAR-SONG OF THE REVOLUTION. By John Neal. Men of the North! look up! There's a tumult in your sky; A troubled glory surging out; Great shadows hurrying by: Your strength--Where is it now? Your quivers--Are they spent? Your arrows in the rust of death, Your fathers' bows unbent? Men of the North! Awake! Ye're called to from the Deep; Trumpets in every breeze-- Yet there ye lie asleep: A stir in every tree; A shout from every wave; A challenging on every side; A moan from every grave: A battle in the sky; Ships thundering through the air-- Jehovah on the march-- Men of the North, to prayer! Now, now--in all your strength; There's that before your way, Above, about you, and below, Like armies in array: Lift up your eyes, and see The changes overhead; Now hold your breath! and hear The mustering of the dead. See how the midnight air With bright commotion burns, Thronging with giant shape, Banner and spear by turns-- The sea-fog driving in, Solemnly and swift; The Moon afraid--stars dropping out-- The very skies adrift: The Everlasting GOD: Our Father--Lord of Love-- With cherubim and seraphim All gathering above-- Their stormy plumage lighted up As forth to war they go; The shadow of the Universe, Upon our haughty foe! MUSINGS ON MUSIC. By James F. Otis. And while I was musing, the fire burned.--_Holy Writ._ THE ORIGIN OF MUSIC. Music is the wondrous breathing of God's spirit in our souls. As we view the "floor of heaven, thickly inlaid with patines of pure gold," we feel that There's not the smallest orb which we behold, But, in its motion, like an angel sings, Still quiring to the young eyed cherubim.