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HE first-born rose of vernal prime,
its bosom rare,
Doth make its morning prayer.
The Summer bird, on raptured wing,
That cleaves the vaulted sky,
Its gushing minstrelsy.
Her harvests ripening fair ;
Doth praise the Giver's care.
Each Winter, in its Sabbath rest,
Adores the King of Might;
Who robes the earth in white.
Thou art His servant, O my soul,
By birth, by choice, by vow;
Prove thine allegiance now.
Unfolds its pinions fleet,
By strains of worship sweet.
Make this brief life a song of praise,
Where'er thy lot may
ON cottager, who weaves at her own
Pillow and bobbins all her little store,-
Shuffling her threads about the live-long day,
HE Spirit breathes upon the Word,
And brings the truth to fight;
A sanctifying light.
A glory gilds the sacred page,
Majestic like the sun ;
It gives, but borrows none.
The hand that gave it still fupplies
The gracious light and heat;
They rise, but never set.
Let everlasting thanks be thine
For such a bright display,
With beams of heavenly day.
My soul rejoices to pursue,
The steps of Him I love,
In brighter worlds above.
ERE is the spring whence waters flow,
To quench our heat of fin;
Here is the Judge that stints the strife,
When men's devices fail ;
Which death cannot affail.
The tidings of salvation dear,
Come to our ears from hence;
And shield of our defence.
A pearl at his desire ;
And wallowing in the mire.
To understand thereby.
To fructify therein ;
To mortify thy sin.
Then happy thou, in all thy life,
What so to thee befalls;
When God, by death, thee calls.*
ND who is He? the vast, the awful
form, Girt with the whirlwind, sandald with
the storm ;
Lo! cherub hands the golden courts prepare ;
night, God is their temple, and the Lamb their light;
* These lines are to be found in the “Bishop's Bible ” of 1568.