To bring th' eternal Author to my mind;
When oceans roar, or awful thunders roll,
May thoughts of thy dread vengeance shake my
soul !
When earth's in bloom, or planets proudly shine,
Adore, my heart, the Majesty Divine ;
Thro' ev'ry scene of life, or peace, or war,
Plenty, or want, thy glory be my care!
Shine we in arms, or sing beneath our vine?
Thine is the vintage, and the conquest thine;
Thy pleasure points the shaft and bends the bow,
The cluster blasts, or bids it brightly flow!
O thou! whose balance does the mountain weigh,
Whose will the wild tumultuous seas obey,
Whose breath can turn those wat'ry worlds to
flame,
That flame to tempest and that tempest tame;
Earth's meanest son, all trembling, prostrate falls,
And on the bounties of thy goodness calls.
Grant I may ever, at the morning's ray,
Open with pray'r the consecrated day ;
Tune thy great praise, and bid my soul arise,
And with the mountain sun ascend the skies!
As that advances, let my zeal improve,
And glow with ardour of consummate love :
Nor cease at eve, but with the setting sun
My endless worship shall be still begun.
And oh! permit the gloom of solemn night
To sacred thought may forcibly invite.
Thou, who canst still the raging of the flood,
Restrain the various tumults of my blood.
Thou, who canst shake the centre, oh, control,
Subdue by force, the rebel in my soul;
Teach me with equal firmness to sustain
Alluring pleasure and assaulting pain:
My love be warm to succour the distress'd,
And lift the burthen from the soul oppress'd.
O, may I pant for Thee, in each desire,
And with strong faith foment the holy fire!
Stretch out, my soul, in hope, and grasp the prize,
Which in eternity's deep bosom lies!
At the great day of recompence, behold,
Devoid of fear, the fatal book unfold!
Then, wafted upward to the blissful seat,
From age to age my grateful song repeat!
My Light, my Life, my GOD, my Saviour see,
And rival angels in the praise of Thee!
The Bew-Drops.
EE how the orient dew,
Shed from the bosom of the morn
Into the blowing roses,
Yet careless of its mansion new,
For the clear region where 'twas born,
Round it itself incloses;
And in its little globe's extent
Frames as it can, its native element.
How it the purple flower does slight,
Scarce touching where it lies!
But, gazing back upon the skies,
Shines with a mournful light:
Because so long divided from the sphere.
Restless it rolls and insecure,
Trembling, lest it grow impure;
Till the warm sun pities its pain,
And to the skies exhales it back again.
So the soul, that drop, that ray,
Of the clear fountain of eternal day,
Could it within the human flower be seen,
Remembering still its former height,
Shuns the sweet leaves and blossoms green;
And recollecting its own light,
Does, in its pure and circling thoughts, express The greater heaven in an heaven less.
In how coy a figure wound,
Every way it turns away!
To the world excluding round,
Yet receiving in the day;
Dark beneath, but bright above;
Here disdaining, there in love.
How loose and easy hence to go;
How girt and ready to ascend:
Moving but on a point below,
In all about does upwards bend.
Such did the manna's sacred dew distil,
White and entire, although congealed and
Congealed on earth; but does, dissolving, run
Into the glories of the Almighty sun.
The Widow of Nain.
EEP not, O mother, sounds of lamentation; Weep not, O widow, weep not hopelessly! Strong is his arm, the bringer of salvation! Strong is the word of God to succour thee! Bear forth the cold corpse, slowly, slowly bear him; Hide his pale features with the sable pall; Chide not the sad one wildly weeping o'er him; Widowed and childless, she has lost her all.
Why pause the mourners, who forbids our weeping?
Who the dark pomp of sorrow has delayed? "Set down the bier-he is not dead, but sleeping! Young man, arise!" He spake, and was obeyed!
Change then, O sad one, grief to exultation; Worship and fall before Messiah's knee. Strong was his arm, the bringer of salvation! Strong was the Word of God to succour thee! BISHOP HEBER.
The Tune to which the Planets Rolled. THE
HE Father spake! In grand reverberations
Through space rolled on the mighty music-
tide,
While to its low, majestic modulations,
The clouds of chaos slowly swept aside.
The Father spake—a dream, that had been lying
Hushed from eternity in silence there,
Heard the pure melody, and low replying,
Grew to that music in the wondering air-
Grew to that music-slowly, grandly waking,
Till bathed in beauty-it became a world!
Led by his voice, its spheric pathway taking,
While glorious clouds their wings around it
furled.
Nor yet has ceased that sound-his love revealing,
Though, in response, a universe moves by!
Throughout eternity, its echo pealing—
World after world awakes in glad reply!
And wheresoever, in his rich creation,
Sweet music breathes-in wave, or bird, or soul
'Tis but the faint and far reverberation
Of that great tune to which the planets roll!
There is a World Above, where
Parting is Unknown.
BEYOND the flight of time,
Beyond the reign of death,
There surely is some blessed clime,
Where life is not a breath;
Nor life's affections transient fire,
Whose sparks fly upwards and expire.
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