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And when thou scal'st the milky-way,
And vanishes from human view,
A thousand worlds shall hail thy ray
Through wilds of yon empyreal blue!
O! on thy rapid prow to glide!

To sail the boundless skies with thee
And plough the twinkling stars aside,

Like foam-bells on a tranquil sea!

To brush the embers from the sun,
The icicles from off the pole;
Then far to other systems run,
Where other moons and planets roll!

Stranger of Heaven! O let thine eye
Smile on a rapt enthusiast's dream;
Eccentric as thy course on high,

And airy as thine ambient beam!

And long, long may thy silver ray
Our northern arch at eve adorn;
Then, wheeling to the east away,
Light the grey portals of the morn!



AUTHOR of being! life-sustaining king!
Lo! Want's dependent eye from thee implores
The seasons, which provide nutritious stores;
Give to her prayers the renovating spring,
And summer's heats all perfecting, that bring
The fruits which autumn from a thousand shores
Selecteth provident! when earth adores
Her God, and all her vales exulting sing.

Without thy blessing, the submissive steer
Bends to the ploughman's galling yoke in vain ;
Without thy blessing on the varied year,

Can the swarth reaper grasp the golden grain ! Without thy blessing, all is blank and drear; With it, the joys of Eden bloom again.


(From Lucifer.)


WHO sits above heaven's heights sublime,
Yet fills the grave's profoundest place,
Beyond eternity, or time,

Or the vast round of viewless space :
Who on himself alone depends-
Immortal-glorious-but unseen—
And in His mighty being blends

What rolls around or flows within.
Of all we know not-all we know-
Prime source and origin-a sea,
Whose waters pour'd on earth below
Wake blessing's brightest radiancy.
His power-love-wisdom, first exalted
And waken'd from oblivion's birth
Yon starry arch-yon palace, vaulted—

Yon heaven of heavens-to smile on earth,
From His resplendent majesty

We shade us 'neath our sheltering wings,
While awe-inspired and tremblingly

We praise the glorious King of kings,
With sight and sense confus'd and dim;
O name-describe the Lord of lords,
The seraphs' praise shall hallow Him ;—
Or is the theme too vast for words?


'Tis God! who pours the living glow
Of light, creation's fountain-head:
Forgive the praise-too mean and low-
Or from the living or the dead.

No tongue Thy peerless name hath spoken
No space can hold that awful name;
The aspiring spirit's wing is broken ;-
Thou wilt be, wert, and art the same!

Language is dumb-Imagination,
Knowledge, and Science, helpless fall;
They are irreverent profanation,

And thou, O God! art all in all. How vain on such a thought to dwell! Who knows Thee-Thee the All-unknown? Can angels be thy oracle,

Who art-who art Thyself alone?
None-none can trace Thy course sublime,
For none can catch a ray from Thee,
The splendour and the source of time-
The Eternal of eternity.

Thy light of light out-pour'd conveys
Salvation in its flight elysian,
Brighter than e'en Thy mercy's rays ;-
But vainly would our feeble vision
Aspire to Thee. From day to day

Age steals on us-but meets Thee never
Thy power is life's support and stay-
We praise Thee-sing Thee, Lord! for ever.
Holy-holy-holy! Praise-

Praise be His in every land; Safety in His presence staysSacred is His high command!


The Lord's Day Morning.

AGAIN the Lord of life and light
Awakes the kindling ray;
Unseals the eyelids of the morn
And pours increasing day.

O what a night was that which wrapp'd
The heathen world in gloom!
O what a sun, which broke, this day,
Triumphant from the tomb!

This day be grateful homage paid,
And loud hosannas sung;
Let gladness dwell in ev'ry heart,
And praise on ev'ry tongue.

Ten thousand diff'ring lips shall join
To hail this welcome morn,
Which scatters blessings from its wings
To nations yet unborn.



THE cold wind strips the yellow leaf,
The stars are twinkling faintly o'er us;
All nature wears her garb of grief,
While day's fair book is closed before us.

The songs have ceased,-and busy men
Are to their beds of silence creeping;
The pale, cold moon looks out again
On the tired world so softly sleeping.

O! in an hour so still as this,

From care, and toil, and tumult stealing,


I'll consecrate an hour to bliss-
To meek devotion's holy feeling:

And rise to Thee-to Thee, whose hand
Unroll'd the golden map of heaven;
Mantled with beauty all the land;
Gave light to morn, and shade to even,

Being, whose all-pervading might
The laws of countless worlds disposes;
Yet gives the sparkling dews their light-
Their beauty to the blushing roses :

Thou, Ruler of our destiny!

With million gifts hast Thou supplied us,
Hidd'n from our view futurity,
Unveiling all the past to guide us.

Tho' dark may be earth's vale, and damp,
A thousand stars shine sweetly o'er us,
And immortality's pure lamp

Gladdens and gilds our path before us.

And in the silence of the scene

Sweet tones from heaven are softly speaking,
Celestial music breathes between,

The slumbering soul of bliss awaking.

Short is the darkest night, whose shade
Wraps nature's breast in clouds of sadness;
And joy's sweet flowers, that seem to fade,
Shall bloom anew in kindling gladness.

Death's darkness is more bright to him
Who looks beyond in visions holy,
Than passion's fires, or splendour's dream,
Or all the glare of sin and folly.

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