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Or, gathering in their angry might,
The fierce and wintry tempests blow; All—from the evening's plaintive sigh,
That hardly lifts the drooping flower, To the wild whirlwind's midnight cry
Breathe forth the language of thy power. God of the fair and open sky!
How gloriously above us springs The tented dome, of heavenly blue,
Suspended on the rainbow's rings. Each brilliant star, that sparkles through,
Each gilded cloud, that wanders free In evening's purple radiance, gives
The beauty of its praise to thee.
God of the ing orbs above!
Thy name is written clearly bright In the warm day's unvarying blaze,
Or evening's golden shower of light. For every fire that fronts the sun,
And every spark that walks alone Around the utmost verge of heaven,
Were kindled at thy burning throne. God of the world! the hour must come,
And nature's self to dust return! Her crumbling altars must decay!
Her incense fires shall cease to burn ! But still her grand and lovely scenes
Have made man's warmest praises flow; For hearts grow holier as they trace
The beauty of the world below.
Ah! when did wisdom covet length of days,
JESUS TEACHING THE PEOPLE.
How sweetly flow'd the Gospel's sound
From lips of gentleness and grace, When listening thousands gather'd round,
And joy and reverence fillid the place! From heaven he came, of heaven he spoke,
To heaven he led his followers' way; Dark clouds of gloomy night he broke,
Unveiling an immortal day.
"Come, wanderers, to my Father's home,
Come, all ye weary ones, and rest !”
Obey thee, love thee, and be blest.
Pillars of earthly pride, decay !
And Jesus has prepared the way.
ON THE DEATH OF A CHRISTIAN FRIEND.
When faith and love, which parted from thee never,
Had ripen'd thy just soul to dwell with God,
Meekly thou didst resign this earthly load Of death, call'd life, which us from life doth sever. Thy works, and alms, and all thy good endeavor,
Stay'd not behind, nor in the grave were trod;
But, as faith pointed with her golden rod, Follow'd thee up to joy and bliss for ever! Love led them on, and faith, who knew them best.
Thy handmaids clad them o'er with purple beams, And azure wings, that up they flew so dress’d,
And spake the truth of thee on glorious themes, Before the Judge; who thenceforth bade thee rest,
And drink thy fill of pure immortal streams.
LINES ADDRESSED TO THE RING-DOVE.
Sweet bird, again that plaintive strain;
It seems the Christian voice;
And yet in hope rejoice.
Their varied notes express;
And more thy pilgrim dress.
Like those of Zion's song,
Nor heed the glittering throng!
Should rend that one so dear!
To see him reappear !
that soul the Savior slain,
Victorious from the grave.
Thy murmurs when caress'd;
E'en on his Master's breast.
But soon, with swift unburden'd wing,
His soul shall mount above, In one eternal strain to sing
A dying Savior's love.
“THOU HAST MADE SUMMER AND
My God, all nature owns thy sway;
In every scene thy hands have dress’d,