Abundant stores than all the wealth of kings. And thus supported, fed, and clothed; and moved From scenes of sorrow to a land of peace-- They live!--and living still they do rejoice In tribulation deep: Well knowing their redemption draweth nigh! THE FALLS OF NIAGARA. WRITTEN IN PRISON. Boast not, O proud Niagara! although Thou mayest withstand the ravages of time, While countless millions swept away with all Their mighty works, are lost in following years: Yet there is a voice to speak, long and loud! 'Tis Michael's trump, whose mighty blast shall rend Thy rocks, and bow thy lofty mountains in the dust. Before whose awful presence thy waters Blush in retiring modesty; and in Respectful silence thou shalt stand, and listening, Wonder and admire, while thunders roll Majestic round the sky;--the lightnings play,-- The mountains sink,--the valleys rise,--till earth, Restored to its original--receives Its final rest, and groans and sighs no more. Till then weep on, and let thy voice ascend, In solemn music to the skies;--it is A funeral dirge,--thou weepest o'er the miseries Of a fallen world--in anguish deep. SPRING. WRITTEN IN PRISON, APRIL, 1839. See nature bursting into life and bloom: Joyous, it rises from its wintry tomb, Decked in pure robes of purple, white, or green: Perfumed with incense sweet--O lovely scene! Melodious sounds, with music soft and sweet, Thrill through the air--thy joyous presence greet. Behold, O Mary! and remember too, There is a spring to bloom for me and you;-- We, like the spring, shall burst the sullen gloom. All clothed in white--eternally to bloom. We too, will join the choir his praise to sing, And hail the welcome of Eternal Spring. SIGNS OF THE TIMES. WRITTEN IN PRISON. Lift up your heads, ye scattered saints, Redemption draweth nigh; Our Saviour hears the orphans' plaints'; The widow's mournful cry. The blood of those who have been slain For vengeance cries aloud: Nor shall its cries ascend in vain, For vengeance on the proud. The signs in heaven and earth appear; And blood, and smoke, and fire; Men's hearts are failing them for fear; Redemption's drawing nigher. Earthquakes are bellowing 'neath the ground, And tempests through the air;-- The trumpet's blast with fearful sound, Proclaims the alarm of war. The saints are scattered to and fro, Through all the earth abroad; The gospel trump again to blow, And then behold their God. Rejoice, ye servants of our God, Who to the end endure; Rejoice, for great is your reward, And your defence is sure. Although this body should be slain By cruel, wicked hands; I'll praise my God in higher strains, And on Mount Zion stand. Glory to God, ye saints rejoice, And sigh and groan no more; But listen to the spirit's voice; Redemption's at the door.