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Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise,
At church with meek and unaffected grace,
Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm,
GOD moves in a mysterious way
Deep in unfathomable mines
He treasures up His bright designs,
Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take;
Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,
His purposes will ripen fast,
The bud may have a bitter taste,
Blind unbelief is sure to err,
And he will make it plain.
WISDOM AND VIRTUE SOUGHT FROM GOD.
SUPREME and universal Light!
Without whose kind directing ray,
Assist me, Lord, to act, to be,
My mortal freedom to maintain,
No slave to profit, shame, or fear,
May my expanded soul disdain
O Father! grace and virtue grant!
WHEN day-light breaks, and sheds his rays abroad,
Turn from the splendour of his sunny glow; Let thy soul leave the earth, and soar to God,
As the sweet flower turns to the sun below, And drinks the blessed rays which from his brightness flow.
Oh! let not nature's praises soar on high,
Ere thy heart lifts its aspirations there;
Morn is the time, to see thy pray'rs begun ;
And the grave open'd with the morning sun,
When man's redemption was complete on earth ;
And morn shall see our God in judgement coming forth.
Serve God at morn, that solemn hallow'd hour, When nature wakes, as from the sleep of death, When the glad song from mountain, grove, and bower, [neath,
Is heard through heaven, and on the earth beServe God, let him receive thy morning's early breath.
Happy the day, whose first beam bears thy song On his bright wing, up to the gate of heaven, Where thy faint praises mingle with that throng, Who rest not from their hallelujahs morn or
To whom the glorious palm of victory is given.
Happy the day, whose hours are thus begun ;
A day from storms, and every tempest free, Though clouds may rise, the splendour of the sun Will make the darkness and the shadows flee, As mist from mountain tops when they the morning see.
Happy the day,-there's promise in its close;
A lustre, and then sparkles on the wave,
No more of earthly subjects sing;
To raise the song, charge ev'ry string,
Begin, in lofty numbers show
What numbers shall I bring along?
From whence shall I begin the song. The mighty mystery I'll sing, inspir'd, Beyond the reach of human wisdom wrought, Beyond the compass of an angel's thought, How by the rage of man has God expir'd. I'll make the trackless depths of mercy known, How to redeem his foe God render'd up his Son; I'll raise my voice to tell mankind
The victor's conquest o'er his doom;
How in the grave he lay confin'd,
To seal more sure the rav'nous tomb. Three days, th' infernal empire to subdue; He pass'd triumphant through the coasts of woe; With his own dart the tyrant Death he slew, And led Hell captive through her realms below. A mingled sound from Calvary I hear, And the loud tumult thickens on my ear, The shouts of murd'rers, that insult the slain, The voice of torment, and the shrieks of pain. I cast my eyes with horror up
To the curst mountain's guilty top;
See there! whom hanging in the midst I view !
I see him high above his foes,
Whose guilt conspires to shed his blood.
His wide extended arms I see
Transfix'd with nails, and fasten'd to the tree.