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Come, Lord ! when Grace has made
Whether I die or live;
And this Thy grace must give.
That I may long obey;
Christ leads me through no darker rooms
Than He went through before; He that unto God's kingdom comes
Must enter by this door.
Thy blessed face to see ;
What must Thy glory be?
Then shall I end my sad complaints,
And weary, sinful days,
That sing Jehovah's praise.
of faith is dim; But 'tis enough that Christ knows all, And I shall be with Him.
Days of Joy ensue sad Aights of
The sweet fruition of his hopeful gain,
"Tis not for me to carve me where I like; Him pleases when he list to stroke or strike.
I'll neither wish nor yet avoid temptation,
Howe'er, let me not boast, nor yet repine ;
Death of the Righteous.
To paint the hour that wafts a soul to heaven!
speak Must perish; parents take their hushed adieu ; A wife, a child, a daughter half divine, Or son that never drew a father's tear,Approach him, and his dying tones receive. Like God's own language! 'tis an hour of awe, Yet terrorless, when revelations flow From faith immortal; view that pale worn brow, It gleams with glory!—in his eyes there dawns A dazzling earnest of unuttered joy.
gaze, and smiles that
Each pang subdued, his longing soul respires
Devotion Breathes Aloud from every
chord ; The voice of praise was heard in every tone, And prayer, and thanks to Him, the Eternal
One, To Him, that, with bright inspiration, touched The high and gifted lyre of heavenly song, And warmed the soul with new vitality. A stirring energy through Nature breathed !The voice of adoration from her broke, Swelling aloud in every breeze, and heard Long in the sullen waterfall,what time Soft Spring or hoary Autumn threw on earth Its bloom or blighting,when the Summer smiled, Or Winter o'er the year's sepulchre mourned, The Deity was there !—a nameless spirit
Moved in the hearts of men to do Him homage ;
altars, And gray moss mantling hung. Above was heard The melody of winds, breathed out as the green
trees Bowed to their quivering touch in living beauty, And birds sang forth their cheerful hymns. Below, Struggled and gushed amongst the tangled roots, That choked its weedy fountain—and dark rocks, Worn smooth by the constant current, even there The listless wave, that stole with mellow voice, Where weeds grew rank upon the rushy brink, And to the wandering wind the green sedge bent, Sang a sweet song of fixed tranquillity. Men felt the heavenly influence; and it stole Like balm into their hearts, till all was peace; And even the air they breathed,—the light they
saw, Became religion ;-for the ethereal spirit, That to soft music wakes the chords of feeling, And mellows everything to beauty, moved With cheering energy within their breasts, And made all holy there—for all was love. The morning stars that sweetly sang togetherThe moon that hung at night in the mid-skyDay-spring—and eventide—and all the fair And beautiful forms of nature, had a voice