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THE CREATION FINISHED AND SURVEYED.
HERE finished he, and all that he had made
View'd, and behold all is entirely good;
So ev'n and morn accomplish'd the sixth day;
Yet not till the Creator from his work
Desisting, though unwearied, up return'd,
Up to the Heav'n of Heav'ns his high abode,
Thence to behold this new-created world,
Th' addition of his empire, how it show'd
In prospect from his throne, how good, how fair,
Answering his great idea. Up he rode,
Follow'd by acclamation and the sound
Symphonious of ten thousand harps, that tun'd
Angelic harmonies; the earth, the air,
Resounded, (thou remember'st, for thou heard'st)
The heavens and all the constellations rang,
The planets in their stations listening stood,
While the bright pomp ascended jubilant,
Open, ye everlasting gates, they sang,
Open, ye heav'ns, your everlasting doors; let in
The great Creator from his work return'd
Magnificent, his six days work, a world.
'Tis sweet when cloudless suns arise,
As through the vale we move;
But, oh, more sweet to recognise,
Through dreary nights and starless skies,
The smiling face of Love!
I hail the breeze that, soft and clear,
Wafts influence from above;
But chief the storm delighted hear,
While breathes o'er faith's attentive ear,
The whisp'ring voice of Love!
When health invigorates the frame,
Let joy the bliss improve;
But tort'ring pain and fever's flame,
With teaching pow'r alike proclaim
The tender hand of Love!
Thou canst not weep, frail child of clay,
Such blessings taught to prove ;
Each cloud, that dims thy upward way,
Shall more endear the glorious day
That gilds the land of Love!
"I have heard of Thee by the hearing of the ear, but now mine eye seeth thee."
THE spirit of Beauty smiles over the earth,
Still fresh, as when Eden rejoic'd in her birth;
A seraph might gaze on these scenes as his own,
O'er which yon large star like a seraph looks down.
Oh! now, when intensely on valley and hill,
The breath of their Maker seems visible still,-
Each coil of my nature its long sleep unfolds,
As if yearning to mingle with what it beholds.
And the calm of the sky, and the blue of the sea,
Are like the bright features of lov'd ones to me,
Tho' still sin and sorrow their victim retain,
I feel not their presence,-I drag not their chain.
Oh! stern as the tempest, misfortunes might pour,
Their darkness around me, could such hours endure,
Nor the fierce pangs of death could o'ershadow my
If my dying eye gazed on a glory like this.
WHEN Jesus, by the Virgin brought,
So runs the law of Heav'n,
Was offer'd holy to the Lord,
And at the altar giv'n;
Simeon the just and the devout,
Who, frequent in the fane,
Had for the Saviour waited long,
But waited still in vain.
Come, Heav'n directed, at the hour
When Mary held her Son;
He stretched forth his aged arms;
While tears of gladness run:
With holy joy upon his face
The good old father smil'd,
While fondly in his wither'd arms
He clasp'd the promis'd Child.
And then he lifted up to Heav'n
An earnest asking eye;
My joy is full, my hour is come,
Lord, let thy servant die."
At last my arms embrace my Lord,
Now let their vigour cease:
At last my eyes my Saviour see,
Now let them close in peace!
The star and glory of the land
Hath now begun to shine;
The morning that shall gild the globe
Breaks on those eyes of mine!
WHEN the bark by a gentle breath is driven,
And the bright sun dances in the heaven
Up and down, as the rocking boat
Upon the ridgy waves doth float-
And the fresh sea sprinkles the sloping deck,
And nought is seen but some snowy speck
On the distant verge-and the sky above,
And the waters around-'tis sweet to move
Gladly from one to another strand,
Guided by some invisible hand.
Gladly, aye! for him who leaves
No friend behind, who dreams, and grieves,
And dreads that every breezy breath
Is the wing'd charioteer of death,
Ah! that love is a fearful thing;
It hovers round on a vampire's wing:
Darkness is its abode-it dwells
In caverns and spectre-peopled cells:
'Tis wont to play with phantoms dread,
And wreathes the aconite round its head:
The desert and the grove it seeks,
And clouds are on its splendent cheeks;
And it sits in storms, and builds its throne
In terror's dark pavilion;
And its bright and spirit-piercing eyes
Are shrouded in thick anxieties.
Onwards! onwards!-lo, we sweep
The heaving bosom of the deep,-
Freshens the wind!-how gay to ride
On the pinions of the Eternal tide,
And to live, as it were, in life's excess,
'Midst the wild waters' frowardness!
It is as if life's currents too,
Driven by an impulse strange and new,
Roll'd with a swifter course,-partaking
Of the eager spirit round us waking.
But soon, too soon, the busy sea
Is still'd to us-reality
Waves over us her leaden wand:
We tread the dull and changeless land!
Our bark conducts us to the shore,
And the fresh breeze impels no more;
For us repose the joyous waves-
And we all slumber in our graves.
Thou Steerer of the Storm! who guidest
Our little vessel,-who dividest
The waves around us,-who hast spread
Heaven's canopy above our head,
And scatter'd thro' it gales of love,
To waft us to our port above:
Thou! whose omnipotent voice can still
The mighty ocean as the rill;
Thou! subject vast of praise and wonder,
Who in the breeze and in the thunder
Art heard alike-to Thee, O Friend!
O Father! I my lot commend.
And be it Thine, All-wise! as now,
A favouring passage to bestow
Through life's dark ocean-till the tomb
Receives us in its mighty womb,
Where we shall slumber till the day,
Of days the greatest, sends its ray
Into the gloom sepulchral—then
Shall the rais'd spirit live again,
And enter on a course which never
Can be disturb'd by vain endeavour,
Nor check'd by storms or billows dreary,—
Nor hearts despond-not hopes be weary.