Where is the beauty which could charm,
To infant softness, manhood's pride?
And where the boasted strength of form,
Which could the ills of life deride?
Lost in the tomb is all our pride!
Our grandeur, and our love of fame:
The mean and noble side by side,
Affinity to dust must claim!
Then why pursue these fleeting joys?
Their power is transient; short their zest;
I turn disgusted from such toys,
And look toward my heavenly rest.
Awake then, oh my slumbering soul!
Let all thy warm affections rise,
To that great source, that wondrous whole,
Whose throne of glory is the skies!
TO MY LITTLE DAUGHTER MARGARET,
Awake! dear Margaret, rise, my love!
The songsters warble in each grove;
Awake, my child! and early pay
Thy homage to the god of day!
Oh! haste, and join thy infant song
Of grateful praise, with the gay throng,
Who daily tune their sweetest lays
To chant their great Creator's praise.
Behold! the blessings which his hand hath spread, View this green carpet, yon gay flow'ring bedHere the sweet rose its richest fragrance sends, And there the modest rivulet lowly bends.
See that majestic river wind its way,
Mingling its waters in yon noble bay!
Those beauteous isles, like gems upon the wave,
Long famed in story, as the Hero's grave.
See mount on mount, in grand succession rise!
Till lost in clouds, they mingle with the skies;
Lo! all these wonders rose at God's command,
All bear the impress of his mighty hand!
Come, view them, dearest, let thy young heart glow
With love to Him, from whom all blessings flow;
He gave thee life, and health, and tender friends,
On Him thy comfort every day depends:
In Him you live and breathe, in Him you move;
Then praise Him, child, for all his wondrous love!
Oh! let thy song, like sacred incense rise
In hallelujahs to the lofty skies!
This day our blessed Saviour rose
Triumphant o'er his cruel foes!
Burst the dark bondage of the grave
The Lord omnipotent to save!
Blest be this day, for ever blest
This sacred day of holy rest!
Banish, my heart, each earthly care,
Let heaven alone have entrance there.
Oh! may no earth-born passion rest,
This holy day, within my breast!
But may the treasures of thy word
Refresh my heart, most gracious Lord!
Revive this weak and languid frame
With pure devotion's sacred flame,
And raise my soul to God above,
The source of comfort, light, and love!
PARAPHRASE OF THE SEVENTH CHAPTER OF JOB.
Our days are numbered here below,
And filled with vanity and pain;
The lingering moments pass too slow;
But this impatience is in vain.
Restless I pass the weary night,
And long for morning's cheerful dawn; But morning's sunbeams, dazzling bright, Cannot bring peace, when health has flown.
My days of pain fly swiftly on,
As shuttle from the weaver's hand;
Soon will this weary race be run,
And I be swept from off the land.
Reviving hope has ceased to cheer
The anguish of my tortured heart;
There's naught but pain and sorrow here,
Oh! gracious God-let me depart!
When to my couch I restless fly,
I find no ray of comfort there-
Visions of darkness terrify
My wounded spirit, spent with care.
Oh! heavenly Father, end my life!
I loathe it, and would now resign
These days of vanity and strife-
Oh! God, I would be wholly thine.
My breath is like a passing cloud,
Borne on the boist'rous northern gale;
My wailings, nightly, loud resound
Throughout my own, my native vale!
Oh! what is man, poor feeble man,
That he should merit thy regard?
His longest date is but a span,
With suffering, pain, and anguish marr'd!
Why should'st thou visit him each morn,
And ev'ry passing moment try
His wayward faith, and prove how strong
His hopes on heaven and Thee rely?
I have sinned-thou great preserver!
Pardon my transgressions, Lord!
My pilgrimage will soon be over,
Teach me to rest upon thy word!
"I ASCEND UNTO MY FATHER AND YOUR FATHER, MY GOD AND YOUR GOD.”
"Say, Mary, why these flowing tears?
Lone one, why dost thou weep?
Mourn not the errors of past years,
But let their mem❜ry sleep.
"Thy penitence hath washed away
The crimes of early youth,
And, through affliction, paved the way
To virtue, peace, and truth.
"Then why those tears? Oh! tell me why Does grief contract thy brow?" "Oh! canst thou not the cause descry? Where is my Saviour now?
"Where hast thou laid my blessed Lord?
Why hast thou borne him hence?
His sacred relics I would guard
With love and penitence."
"Mary!" a well-known voice replied, Which thrilled her inmost soul;
She turned, and filled with wonder, cried "My Master, I behold!"
Oh! how her heart with rapture glowed
And burned with sacred fire,
When the soft accents gently flowed
Which faith and hope inspire!
"Oh! touch me not;-I have not yet
Ascended to my throne,
At His right hand I take my seat,
My Father, and thine own!
"Oh! Mary, haste, the tidings spread, The brethren shall rejoice;
Tell them, though they beheld me dead, Thyself hast heard my voice.
"Unto my Father I ascend,
Unto thy God and mine:
Oh! let their faith on me depend,
My power is all divine.""
Transcendent goodness! wondrous grace!
And godlike was the plan,
Which brought salvation to the race
Of guilty, fallen man!
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