From the ". H. Spectator,
THE HaLLOWED HOUR.
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The Sabbath, like Times angel, smiles,


And hush'd is earthly care;
And labor now may cease its tolls


And tread the course of prayer
No sound in festive hall is heard,


Nor song in lady's boweri
Peace, and her sister Silence guard


Sure! tis, the hallowed hour.
ITallowed, bnt not if idle dreams,


Still lull the slumbering thought,
Let heaven unveil its radiant beams,


The closed eye heeds them not
Or opened, dost thou grasp but earth,


Its glory, gold and power,
Its bowers OF love and haunts of mirth--


Thou hast no hallowed hour
There's nought can hallow time but when


IT'S hallowed in the breast
'Thou'rt blest-but thou must feel cen then


That heaven hath made me blest,
Or say, though grief's deep floods rush ON


And clouds OF sorrow lower,
20 God! thy will not mine, be done,'--


Then is the hallowed hour