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By the light that never fadeth,
Underneath eternal skies,
When the diwn of resurrection
Breaks o'er deathless Paradise.
-- Professor Aytour. 1813.
ERE the morning's busy ray
Call you to your work away,
Ere the silent evening close
Your wearied eyes in sweet repose,
To list your heart and voice in prayer
Be your first and latest care.
He to whom the prayer is due,
From heaven His throne shall smile on you ;
Angels sent Him shall tend
Your daily labour to befriend,
And their nightly vigils keep
To guard you in the hour of sleep.
When through the peaceful parish swells
The music of the Sabbath bells,
Duly tread the sacred road
Which leads you to the house of God;
The blessing of the Lamb is there,
And “God is in the midst of her.”
And oh! where'er your days be passed,
And oh ! howe'er your lot be cast,
Still think on Him whose eye surveys,
Whose hand is over all your ways.
Abroad, at home, in weal, in woe,
That service which to Heaven you owe,
That bounden service duly pay,
And God shall be your strength alway.
He only to the heart can give
Peace and true pleasure while you live ;
He only, when you yield your breath,
Can guide you through the vale of death.
He can, He will, from out the dust
Raise the blest spirits of the just,
Heal every wound, hush every fear,
From every eye wipe every tear,
And place them where distress is o'er,
And pleasures dwell for evermore.
AH! I shall not forget until memory depart,
When first I beheld it, the glow of my heart;
The wonder, the awe, the delight that stole o'er me
When its billowy boundlessness opened before me.
As I stood on its margin, or roamed on its strand,
I felt new ideas within me expand,
Of glory and grandeur, unknown till that hour,
And my spirit was mute in the presence of power.
In the surf-beaten sands that encircled it round,
In the billows' retreat, and the breakers' rebound,
In its white drifted foam, and its dark heaving green,
Each moment I gazed some fresh beauty was seen.
And thus while I wandered on ocean's bleak shore,
And surveyed its vast surface and heard its waves roar,
I seemed wrapt in a dream of romantic delight,
And haunted by majesty, glory, and might.
- Bernard Barton. 1784.
UPON his royal throne he sat,
In a monarch's thoughtful mood ;
Attendants on his regal state
His servile courtiers stood,
With foolish flatterers, false and vain,
To win his smile, his favour gain.
They told him e'en the mighty deep
His kingly sway confessed :
That he could bid its billows leap,
Or still its stormy breast.
He smiled contemptuously, and cried,
Be then my boasted empire tried.”
Down to the ocean's sounding shore
The proud procession came,
To see its billows' wild uproar
King Canute's power proclaim,
Or at his high and dread command,
In gentle murmurs kiss the strand.
Not so thought he, their noble king,
As his course he seaward sped ;
And each base slave, like a guilty thing,
Hung down his conscious head.
He knew the ocean's Lord on high ;
They, that he scorned their senseless lie.
His throne was placed by ocean's side,
He lifted his sceptre there,
Bidding, with tones of kingly pride,
The waves their strife forbear.
And, while he spoke his royal will,
All but the winds and waves were still.
Louder the stormy blast swept by,
In scorn of his idle word ;
The briny deep its waves tossed high,
By his mandate undeterred,
As threatening, in their angry play,
To sweep both king and court away.
The monarch, with upbraiding look,
Turned to the courtly ring ;
But none the kindling eye could brook,
E’en of his earthly king ;
For in that wrathful glance they see
A mightier Monarch wronged than he.
Canute, thy regal race is run;
Thy name hath passed away,
But for the meed this tale hath won
Which never shall decay :
Its meek, unperishing renown
Outlasts thy sceptre and thy crown.
The Persian, in his mighty pride,
Forged fetters for the main ;
And when its floods his power defied
Inflicted stripes as vain :
But it was worthier far of thee
To know thyself than rule the sea.
Sun and moon and stars shine o'er thee,
See thy surface ebb and flow, Yet attempt not to explore thee
In thy boundless depths below.
Whether morning's splendours steep thee
With the rainbow's glowing grace, Tempests rouse or navies sweep thee,
'Tis but for a moment's space.
Earth, her valleys and her mountains,
Mortal man's behest obey ; Thy unfathomable fountains
Ścoff his search, and scorn his sway. Such art thou, stupendous ocean ;
But if overwhelmed by thee, Can we think, without emotion, What must thy Creator be?
-- Bernard Barton.