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PSALM LXXIV.

[HELEN WILLIAMS.)

My God; all nature owns thy sway,
Thou giv’st the night, and thon the day!
When all thy lov'd creation wakes,
When morning, rich in lustre, breaks,
And bathes in dew the opening flower,
To thee we owe her fragrant hour,
And when she pours her choral song,
Her melodies to thee belong!

Or when in paler tints array'd,
The evening slowly spreads her shade;
Tbat soothing shade, that grateful gloom,
Can, more than day's enliv'ning bloom,
Still ev'ry fond and vain desire,
And calmer, purer thoughts inspire;
From earth the pensive spirit free,
And lead the softened heart to Thee.

In ev'ry scene thy hands have dress’d, In ev'ry form by thee impress’d, Upon the mountain's awful head, Or where the shelt'ring woods are spread; In ev'ry note that swells the gale, Or tuneful stream that cheers the vale, The cavern's depth or echoing grove, A voice is heard of praise and love.

As o'er thy work the seasons roll, And soothe, with change of bliss, the soul, Ob! never may their smiling train Pass o'er the human scene in vain! But oft as on the charm we gaze, Attune the wond’ring soul to praise ; And be the joys that most we prize, The joys that from thy favour rise !

1

ODE TO PEACE.

[COWPER.]

COME, Peace of Mind, delightful guest :
Return; and make thy downy nest,

Once more, in this sad heart,
Nor riches I, nor power pursue,
Nor hold forbidden joys in view;

We therefore need not part.

Where wilt thou dwell, if not with me,
From Av’rice and Ambition free,

And Pleasure's fatal wiles ?
For whom, alas! dost thou prepare
The sweets that I was wont to share,

The banquet of thy smiles ?

The great,

the
gay,

shall they partake The heaven that thou alone canst make;

And wilt thou quit the stream
That murmurs through the dewy mead,
The

grove, and the sequester'd shade, To be a guest with them?

For thee I panted; thee I priz'd;
For thee I gladly sacrificed

Whate'er I loved before.
And shall I see thee start away;
And-helpless, hopeless-hear thee say,

Farewell! we meet no more ?

Renew'd, the earth a robe of light,

A robe of beauty wears;
And in new heavens a brighter sun

Leads in the promis'd year.

The kingdom of Messiah come,

Appointed times disclose; And fairer in Emmanuel's land

The new creation glows.

Let Israel to the Prince of Peace

The loud hosannah sing.
With hallelujah and with hymns,

o Zion, hail thy King!

TEARS.

[REV. HOBART CAUNTER.]

There is a tear that spots the eek,
And speaks more than the tongue can speak
In words without a name,
That tells of many a pang within
Of many a foul and deadly sin-
It is the tear of shame.

There is a tear that through the soul
Causes compassion's tides to roll
In full hut placid flow,
That shows the holy maxim true
How man is born his guilt to rue-
It is the tear of woe.

There is a tear whose mute appeals
Tell all the conscious bosom feels,
With thrilling eloquence,
That wrings the sympathetic sigh
Where ne'er a drop had dimm’d the eye
The tear of penitence.

There is a tear that trickles still
Announcing all the worst of ill,
Too bitter for relief,
That when by some dire mis’ry curst,
Swells the stretch'd heart-strings till they burst-
It is the tear of grief.

There is a tear that dims the eye,
When answer'd by the stifled sigh,
That speaks of woe within,
Ploughing a channel down the face
As if were there its resting placem
It is the tear of sin.

There is a tear that fiercely starts,
And to the haughty eye imparts
A glance, by guilt supplied,
That falls not o'er the moisten'd lid-
To flow by fierce disdain forbid-
It is the tear of pride.

But there 's a tear that gently flows,
And, like the dew-drop on the rose,
Refreshes all things near-
In which the sky of purest blue
Reflects its own celestial hue-
It is religion's tear.

But then, this spark that warms, that guides, That lives, that thinks—what fate betides?

Can this be dust?-a kneaded clod ! This yield to death! the soul, the mind, That measures heaven, and mounts the wind,

That knows at once itself and God ! Great cause of all, above, below,Who knows Thee, must for ever know

Thou art immortal and divine! Thine image on my soul imprest, Of endless being is the test,

And bids eternity be mine!
Transporting thought! but am I sure
That endless life will joy secure ? -

Joys only to the just decreed !-
The guilty wretch, expiring goes
Where vengeance endless life bestows,

That endless misery may succeed !

TO MELANCHOLY.

[Mrs. CARTER ] COME, Melancholy, silent pow'r, Companion of my lonely hour,

To sober thought confin'd!
Thou sweetly sad ideal guest,

Indulge my pensive mind.
No longer wildly hurried through
The tides of life, that ebb and flow

In folly's noisy stream;
I from the busy crowd retire,
To court the objects that inspire

Thy philosophic dream.

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