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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.
THE PERFECTIONS AND PROVIDENCE OF GOD.
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:
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 his creatures God doth feed,
He his mansion hath on high,
THE IMMUTABILITY OF GOD.
GREAT God, how bright thy glories shine,
In heaven-and fear in hell.
Revolving years confirm thy pow'r,
Beauty, and wealth, and power decay,
Thy word, thy record, speaks of thee
Unalt'rably the same;
The first great cause of all-and last,
Thy endless years proclaim.
The seasons in succession roll,
While order reigns throughout the whole
The laws thyself bath fix'd must stand,
Summer and winter, day and night,
Untir'd by thy appointed will
Shall come, and as their course they fill, Thy changeless pow'r maintain.
The heavenly bodies moving round,
Here order loudly speaks the skill
All-all in heav'n, in earth, in air,
That He who made them all is He,
Here then we take our stand-and here,
Nature may heave her last deep groan,
Stamp'd with inviolable truth,
The word that's giv'n Shall lead-or bear direct to heaven, And land them safe at last.
THE GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD.
They grew in beauty, side by side,
They fill'd one home with glee-
The same fond mother bent at night
She had each folded flower in sight-
One, 'midst the forests of the west
The sea, the blue lone sea, hath one,
One sleeps where southern vines are dress'd
He wrapt his colours round his breast,
And one-o'er her the myrtle showers
And parted thus, they rest who play'd
They that with smiles lit up the hall,
Alas for love, if thou wert all,
And nought beyond, on earth!
ODE ON DISAPPOINTMENT.
COME, Disappointment, come!
Come in thy meekest, saddest guise;
But I recline
Beneath thy shrine,
And round my brow resign'd thy peaceful cypress twine.
Tho' Fancy flies away
Before thy hollow tread,
Hears with faint eye, the ling'ring knell,
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,
To turn my eye
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.