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Therefore, in contemplation is his bliss,

Whose pow'r is such, that whom she lifts from earth

She makes familiar with a heaven unseen,

And shows him glories yet to be reveal'd.



Let us, with a joyful mind,

Praise the Lord, for he is kind;

For his mercies shall endure,

Ever faithful, ever sure.

Let us sound his name abroad,

For of gods he is the God:
Who by wisdom did create

The heavens high, and all their state;

Did the solid earth ordain

How to rise above the main;

Who, by his commanding right,

Fill'd the new-made world with light:

Caus'd the golden-tressed sun,
All the day his course to run;
And the moon to shine by night,
'Mid her spangled sisters bright.

All his creatures God doth feed,
His full hand supplies their need;
Let us therefore warble forth
His high majesty and worth.

He his mansion hath on high,
'Bove the reach of mortal eye:
And his mercies shall endure
Ever faithful, ever sure.



GREAT God, how bright thy glories shine,
In all thy attributes divine,
Secure immutable;
Unchangeable in all thy ways,
The object of eternal praise

In heaven-and fear in hell.

Revolving years confirm thy pow'r,
And time receding ev'ry hour,
Declares thy promise sure.

Beauty, and wealth, and power decay,
Like empty visions pass away-
Thou only dost endure.

Thy word, thy record, speaks of thee
As from and to eternity

Unalt'rably the same;

The first great cause of all-and last,
As does the present so the past,

Thy endless years proclaim.

The seasons in succession roll,

While order reigns throughout the whole
In pleasing harmony.

The laws thyself bath fix'd must stand,
Until revers'd by thy command;
And nature's self shall die.

Summer and winter, day and night,
Seed time and (0 regaling sight!)
Harvest with golden train,

Untir'd by thy appointed will

Shall come, and as their course they fill, Thy changeless pow'r maintain.

The heavenly bodies moving round,
Proclaim a Sov'reign cause profound,
And wisdom without space;

Here order loudly speaks the skill
Of him, whose wise unchanging will,
Assigns to each its place.

All-all in heav'n, in earth, in air,
Confirm at once, while they declare
Th' eternal truth abroad,

That He who made them all is He,
Who was, who is, who still must be,
Unchangeable and God.

Here then we take our stand-and here,
Uprais'd beyond corroding fear,
Our anchor hope retain ;

Nature may heave her last deep groan,
But 'mid her drear expiring moan,
The promises remain.

Stamp'd with inviolable truth,
To hoary age from lisping youth,
On these unmov'd we cast

Our souls.

The word that's giv'n Shall lead-or bear direct to heaven, And land them safe at last.



They grew in beauty, side by side,

They fill'd one home with glee-
Their graves are sever'd far and wide,
By mount, and stream, and sea!

The same fond mother bent at night
O'er each fair sleeping brow,

She had each folded flower in sight-
Where are those dreamers now?

One, 'midst the forests of the west
By a dark stream, is laid;
The Indian knows his place of rest,
Far in the cedar shade.

The sea, the blue lone sea, hath one,
He lies where pearls lie deep;
He was the lov'd of all, yet none
O'er his low bed may weep.

One sleeps where southern vines are dress'd
Above the noble slain,

He wrapt his colours round his breast,
On a blood-red field of Spain.

And one-o'er her the myrtle showers
Its leaves, by soft winds fann'd,
She faded 'midst Italian flowers,
The last of that bright band.

And parted thus, they rest who play'd
Beneath the same green tree,
Whose voices mingled as they pray'd
Around one parent knee !

They that with smiles lit up the hall,
And cheer'd with song the hearth-

Alas for love, if thou wert all,

And nought beyond, on earth!



COME, Disappointment, come!
Not in thy terrors clad

Come in thy meekest, saddest guise;
Thy chastening rod but terrifies
The restless and the bad.

But I recline

Beneath thy shrine,

And round my brow resign'd thy peaceful cypress twine.

Tho' Fancy flies away

Before thy hollow tread,
Yet Meditation, in her cell,

Hears with faint eye, the ling'ring knell,
That tells her hopes are dead;

And tho' the tear

By chance appear,

Yet she can smile, and say, My all was not laid here.

Come, Disappointment, come!

Tho' from Hope's summit hurl'd,
Still, rigid Nurse, thou art forgiven,
For thou severe wert sent from heaven,
To wean me from the world:

To turn my eye

From vanity,

And point to scenes of bliss that never, never die.

What is this passing scene?

A peevish April day!

A little sun-a little rain,

And then night sweeps along the plain,

And all things fade away.

Man (soon discuss'd)

Yields up his trust,

And all his hopes and fears lie with him in the dust.

Oh, what is Beauty's power?

It flourishes and dies.

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