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But what's the air, or all the sweets that she
My careful purveyor, she provides me store; She walls me round; she makes
She wafts my treasure from a foreign shore; But, Lord of oceans, when compared with Thee, What is the ocean or her wealth to me? To heaven's high city I direct my journey,
Whose spangled suburbs entertain mine eye; Mine eye, by contemplation's great attorney,
Transcends the crystal pavement of the sky; But what is heaven, great God, compared with
Thee ? Without thy presence, heaven's no heaven to me. Without thy presence, earth gives no refection; Without thy presence, sea affords no trea
sure ; Without thy presence, air's a rank infection; Without thy presence, heaven itself no
pleasure; If not possessed, if not enjoyed in Thee, What's earth, or sea, or air, or heaven to me? The highest honour that the world can boast,
Are subjects far too low for my desire ; Its brightest beams of glory are at most
But dying sparkles of thy living fire; The proudest flames that earth can kindle, be But nightly glowworms if compared to Thee.
Without thy presence, wealth is bags of care;
Wisdom but folly; joy, disquiet sadness; Friendship is treason, and delights are snares; Pleasures but pain, and mirth but pleasing
madness. Without Thee, Lord, things be not what they be, Nor have their being when compared with Thee. In having all things and not Thee, what have I?
Not having Thee, what have my labours got ? Let me enjoy but Thee, what further crave I ?
And having Thee alone, what have I not? I wish not sea nor land; nor would I be Possessed of heaven, heaven unpossessed of Thee.
Quisdom. “LOVE God, love truth, love virtue, and be
happy;" These were the words first uttered in the ear Of every being rational made, and made For thought, or word, or deed accountable. Most men the first forgot, the second none. Whatever path they took, by hill or vale, By day or night, the universal wish, The aim and sole intent was happiness. But, erring from the heaven-appointed path, Strange tracks indeed they took through barren
wastes, And up the sandy mountain climbing toiled,
Which pining lay beneath the curse of God,
Wisdom was right, for still the terms remained
Where Two or Three are Gathered
together. IT is the
Sabbath bell, which calls to prayer, Even to the House of God, the hallowed dome, Where He who claims it bids his people come To bow before his throne, and serve Him there With prayers, and thanks, and praises. Some
there are Who hold it meet to linger now at home,
And some o'er fields and the wide hills to roam, And worship in the temple of the air !
For me, not heedless of the lone address,
Nor slack to greet my Maker on the height, By wood, or living stream; yet not the less
Seek I his presence in each social rite Of his own temple: that He deigns to bless, There still he dwells, and there is his delight.
Where art Thou, Mighty One ? WHAT art Thou, mighty One ? and where
thy seat ? Thou broodest on the calm that cheers the
lands, And thou dost bear within thy awful hands The rolling thunders and the lightnings fleet; Stern on thy dark-wrought car of cloud and wind
Thou guid'st the northern storm at night's
Or on the red wing of the fierce monsoon
Dost Thou repose ? or in the solitude
Hears nightly howl the tiger's hungry brood ? Vain thought! the confines of his throne to trace, Who glows through all the fields of boundless space.
HENRY KIRKE WHITE.
Watching for the Son of Man.
VEN thus, amid thy pride and luxury,
fan, Sweeping like chaff, thy wealth and pomp away: Still to the noontide of that nightless day, Shalt thou thy wonted dissolute course main
tain. Along the busy mart and crowded street, The buyer and the seller still shall meet,
And marriage feasts begin their jocund strain : Still to the pouring out the cup of woe; Till earth, a drunkard, reeling to and fro, And mountains molten by His burning feet, And heaven His presence own, all red with
The hundred-gated cities then,
Eternal and the thrones of kings;
Where still the bird of pleasure sings;
ye the destiny of them ?