Howe'er 'twas done, 'tis glorious and divine;
Thou dost with radiant wonders shine:
The sun, with his bright company,
Are all gross meteors, if compared to thee :
Thou art the fountain whence their light does flow,
But to thy will thine own dost owe;
For (as at first) Thou didst but say,
“Let there be light,” and straight sprang forth

this wondrous day.
Let now the eastern princes come, and bring
Their tributary offering.
There needs no star to guide their flight;
They'll find Thee now, great King, by thine own

light. And thou, my soul, adore, love, and admire, And follow this bright guide of fire. Do thou thy hymns and praises bring, Whilst angels, with veil'd faces, anthems sing.


The Angel on Earth.
A LITTLE child on a sunny day,
A Sat on a flowery bank at play;
The gentle breath of the summer air
Waved the curls of her golden hair,
And ever her voice rang merrily out
In a careless laugh or a joyous shout.

Beautiful was she as early morn,
When the dew is fresh on the blossoming thorn;

And methought as I looked on her fair young face,
Beaming with beauty and truth and grace,
How cold and heartless the world must be,
That could sully such spotless purity!

Years rolled by: in her maiden pride
She stood, a gentle and trusting bride-
How beautiful still! though a softening shade
O'er the dazzling hue of that beauty played,
While the tender glance of her soft blue eye
Told of a love that could not die:
And I prayed as I gazed on her placid brow,
Pure as a wreath of new-fallen snow,
That sorrow, the sorrow that comes to all,
Lightly and gently on her might fall.

Again I saw her: Time had been there, Tipping with silver her golden hair; He had breathed on her cheek, and its rosy hue Was gone, but her heart was pure and true, As when first I met her a budding flower, Or a gentle maid in her bridal hour. As mother and wife she had borne her part, With the faith and hope of a loving heart; And now when nature, with years opprest, Looks and longs for her quiet rest, With holy trust in her Father's love, Awaiting a summons from above, She lingers with us, as if to show To the faint and weary ones below, How oft to the faithful soul 'tis given To taste on earth of the joys of heaven.


This shall my Employment be. MAN is a busy thing, and he

Will deal in all sorts of affairs, Weighty and trivial; each may be, The subject of his greatest cares : But this shall my employment be, Still to be busied, Lord, with thee. Some are all spirit, and will fly At nothing lower than a throne; The proudest spires of dignity They, in their hopes, have made their own; But this shall my employment be, To seek my honour all from thee. Some that are sprung from coarser clay Adore a paint-disguised face, And daily their devotion pay To spotted beasts, or else as base: But this shall my employment be, Duly to serve and wait on thee. Some so enhance the price of gold, They judge their souls to be but dross; And are so saving, that they hold The air, the breath, a mighty loss : But this shall my employment be, I will love nothing like to thee. Some are so loyal to the book Till they can criticise, and tell How many steps old Time has took Since our great father Adam fell :

But this shall my employment be,
Better to know myself and thee.


The Lighting of the Lamps. NOW the stars are lit in heaven,

We must light our lamps on earth : Every star a signal given

From the God of our new birth :
Every lamp an answer faint,
Like the prayer of mortal Saint.
Mark the hour and turn this way,

Sons of Israel, far and near!
Wearied with the World's dim day,

Turn to Him whose eyes are here,
Open, watching day and night,
Beaming unapproached light !
With sweet oil-drops in His hour

Feed the branch of many lights,
Token of protecting power,

Pledg’d to faithful Israelites, Emblem of the anointed Home, When the glory deigns to come. Watchers of the sacred flame,

Sons of Aaron! serve in fear,Deadly is th' avenger's aim,

Should th' unhallowed enter here; Keen His fires, should recreants dare Breathe the pure and fragrant air.

There is One will bless your toil—

He who comes in Heaven's attire,
Morn by morn, with holy oil ;

Eve by eve, with holy fire!
Pray !-your prayer will be allowed,
Mingling with His incense cloud!


The Royal Offspring of a Second

Birth. So now the soul's sublimed, her sour desires Are recalcined in heaven's well tempered

fires; The heart restored, and purged from drossy

nature, Now finds the freedom of a new-born creature; It lives another life, it breathes new breath, It neither fears nor feels the sting of death. Like as the idle vagrant, (having none,) That bold adopts each house he views his own, Makes every purse his chequer, and at pleasure, Walks forth and taxes all the world like Cæsar; At length, by virtue of a just command, His sides are lent to a severer hand; Whereon his pass, not fully understood, Is taxed in a manuscript of blood; Thus passed from town to town, until he come, A sore repentant to his native home: E'en so the rambling heart, that idly roves From crimes to sin, and uncontrolled, removes

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