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As for man, his days are as grass : as a flower of the field, so he flourisheth. For the wind passeth over it, and it is gone, and the place thereof shall know it no more.

Psalm ciii. v. 15 and 16.

How frail the joys humanity can boast !

The fairest are but blossoms of to-day.

To-morrow that we love and value most

May drop its withering head and fade away.

The homeward sailor sees the morn arise

Serene; its radiance gilds the Ocean o'er

Lulls every fear, and leads his longing eyes

To hail the prospect of his native shore.

Yet e'er the evening or the noon shall come,

A passing cloud may the calm Ocean swell,

Obscure the visage of his much-lov'd home,

And from his lips require the last farewell !

Not so the joys that lie beyond the tomb !

Joys—that no change nor chances can control;

Joys—that the chambers of the grave illume,

And shed eternal sunshine on the soul.


How blessed is the man, whose feet

Have shunn'd the paths of hell,

Where wicked spirits hold their seat,

And evil councils dwell.

He contemplates with joy those laws

The books of Heaven reveal,

And strives to practise what he knows,

With unremitting zeal.

As the fair tree, whose stately mien

Beside some river grows,

Puts forth its foliage ever green,

And plenteous fruit bestows:

So shall the righteous man appear,

And prosper in the land;

And, fed by living waters near,

Firm as the Heavens shall stand.

The sinner, like the chaff shall fly,

Blown from the winnow'd floor,

When Christ shall judge the trembling sky,

And time shall be no more.

Not to receive a heavenly crown,

Not to that glorious sight,

Where Jesus shall confess his own,

Clad with the robes of light.

But to yon dark and dreadful shade,

That every vice defiles;

Where anguish never is allay'd,

And mercy never smiles.

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