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Each ardent thought is yours alone,
And every burning word.

Yours is the large expansive thought,

The high heroic deed;

Exile and chains to you are dear,
To you 't is sweet to bleed.

You lift on high the warning voice
When public ills prevail;
Yours is the writing on the wall,
That turns the tyrant pale.

The dogs of hell your steps pursue,
With scoff, and shame, and loss;
The hemlock bowl 't is yours to drain,
To taste the bitter cross.

Even yet the steaming scaffolds smoke

By Seine's polluted stream;

With your rich blood the fields are drench'd,
Where Polish sabres gleam.

Even now, through those accursed bars,
In vain we send our sighs
Where, deep in Olmutz's dungeon gleams,
The patriot martyr lies.

Yet yours is all-through history's page
The kindling bosom feels;

And at your tomb, with throbbing heart,
The fond enthusiast kneels.

And pæans loud in every tongue,
And choral hymns resound;

And lengthening honors hand your name
To time's remotest bound.

Proceed! your race of glory run,
Your virtuous toils endure !

You come, commissioned from on high,

And your reward is sure.


O MY soul, with all thy powers,
Bless the Lord's most holy name;
O my soul, till life's last hours,
Bless the Lord, his praise proclaim ;
Thine infirmities he heal'd;

He thy peace and pardon seal'd,

He with loving kindness crown'd thee,
Satisfied thy mouth with good;
From the snares of death unbound thee,
Eagle-like thy youth renew'd:
Rich in tender mercy he,

Slow to wrath, to favor free.

He will not retain displeasure,
Though awhile he hide his face;
Nor his God-like bounty measure
By our merit, but his grace;

As the heaven the earth transcends
Over us his care extends.


Far as east and west are parted,
He our sins hath sever'd thus ;
As a father loving-hearted
Spares his son, he spareth us;
For he knows our feeble frame,
He remembers whence we came.

Mark the field flower where it groweth,
Frail and beautiful ;-anon,
When the south wind softly bloweth,
Look again,—the flower is gone;
Such is man; his honors pass,
Like the glory of the grass.

From eternity, enduring

To eternity, the Lord,
Still his people's bliss insuring,
Keeps his covenanted word;

Yea, with truth and righteousness,
Children's children he will bless.

As in heaven his throne and dwelling,
King on earth he holds his sway;
Angels, ye in strength excelling,
Bless the Lord, his voice obey;
All his works beneath the pole,
Bless the Lord, with thee, my soul.


THOU Power Supreme, whose mighty scheme These woes of mine fulfil,

Here firm I rest; they must be best,
Because they are thy will.

Then all I want-O, do thou grant
This one request of mine!
Since to enjoy thou dost deny,
Assist me to resign!


GOD is our refuge and defence,
In trouble our unfailing aid;
Secure in his omnipotence,

What foe can make our soul afraid?

Yea, though the earth's foundations rock,
And mountains down the gulf be hurl'd,
His people smile amid the shock,

They look beyond this transient world.

There is a river pure and bright,

Whose streams make glad the heavenly plains; Where, in eternity of light,

The city of our God remains.

Built by the word of his command,
With his unclouded presence bless'd,
Firm as his throne the bulwarks stand;
There is our home, our hope, our rest.

Thither let fervent faith aspire;

Our treasure and our hearts be there;

O for a seraph's wing of fire!
No, on the mightier wings of prayer,-

We reach at once that last retreat,

And, ranged among the ransom'd throng, Fall with the elders at his feet,

Whose name alone inspires their song.

Ah, soon, how soon! our spirits droop,
Unwont the air of heaven to breathe:
Yet God in very deed will stoop,

And dwell Himself with men beneath.

Come to thy living temples, then,
As in the ancient times appear;
Let earth be paradise again,

And man, O God, thine image here.


THE Lord my pasture shall prepare,
And feed me with a shepherd's care;
His presence shall my wants supply,
And guard me with a watchful eye;
My noonday walks he shall attend,
And all my midnight hours defend.

When in the sultry glebe I faint,
Or on the thirsty mountain pant,
To fertile vales and dewy meads
My weary, wandering steps he leads,
Where peaceful rivers, soft and slow,
Amid the verdant landscape flow.

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