O what a goodly scene! here the bleak mount, The bare bleak mountain speckled thin with sheep Gray clouds, that shadowing spot the sunny fields And river, now with bushy rocks o'erbrow'd, Now winding bright and full, with naked banks And seats, and lawns, the abbey, and the wood, And cots, and hamlets, and faint city-spire: The channel there, the islands and white sails, Dim coasts, and cloud-like hills, and shoreless ocean It seem'd like Omnipresence! God, methought, Had built him there a temple: the whole world Seem'd imag'd in its vast circumference. No wish profan'd my overwhelmed heart. Blest hour! it was a luxury-to be! Ah quiet dell! dear cot! and mount sublime, I was constrain'd to quit you. Was it right, While my unnumber'd brethren toil'd and bled. That I should dream away the entrusted hours rose-leaf beds, pamp'ring the coward heart h feelings all too delicate for use? et is the tear that from some Howard's eye ps on the cheek of one he lifts from earth: he, that works me good with unmov'd face it but half: he chills me while he aids.benefactor, not my brother man! even this, this cold beneficence es my praise; when I reflect on those, Inggard pity's vision-weaving tribe! h for wretchedness, yet shun the wretche g in some delicious solitude slothful loves and dainty sympathies! efore go, and join head, heart, and hand e and firm, to fight the bloodless fight ience, freedom, and the truth in Christ Yet oft when after honourable toil Thy jasmin and thy window-peeping rose, COME, CREATOR. DRYDEN. CREATOR Spirit, by whose aid Plenteous of grace, descend from high, Who dost the gift of tongues dispense, Refine and purge our earthly parts; And when rebellious they are grown, Chase from our minds the infernal foe, Make us eternal truths receive, Immortal honour, endless fame, THE MISSIONARY'S GRAVE. SWAN. ON the warrior's early tomb Victory twines the laurel wreath, Hark! his country bids it bloom O'er her hero's dust beneath. Glory has a halo thrown Round the consecrated grave; O'er it love and friendship mourn,, Beauty weeps the fallen brave! But there is a glorious fight, Fought by heroes little known, Nor has Fame, to tell their might, Oft her silver trumpet blown. Yes, there is a boly cause In that cause to yield my breath, Though I miss the world's applause, I would die the martyr's death. Here a soldier's ashes rest- 171 Let the world its heroes praise, Round thei: tombs its la els twine, May the Christian's fighting days And the Christian's grave be mine. Refine and purge our earthly parts: But, oh, inflame and fire our hearts: Our frailties help, our vice control, Submit the senses to the soul; And when rebellious they are grown, Then lay thine hand, and hold them down. Chase from our minds the infernal foe, And peace, the fruit of love, bestow; And, lest our feet should step astray, Protect and guide us in the way. Make us eternal truths receive, Immortal honour, endless fame, THE MISSIONARY'S GRAVE On the warrior's early tomb Glory has a halo thrown Round the consecrated grave; O'er it love and friendship mourn,, Fought by heroes little known, In that cause to yield my breath, Though I miss the world's applause, I would die the martyr's death. Here a soldier's ashes rest In this desert spot of ground, Long the foe around him press'd, Now he is with glory crown'd. Let the world its heroes praise, - Round their tombs its lau els twine, May the Christian's fighting days And the Christian's grave be mine. WHAT DOEST THOU HERE, ELIJAH? HUIE. WHAT dost thou, Christian, 'mongst the tra In Mammon's temple pile? What dost thou, Christian, 'midst the state And madness rules the hour? The poison'd chalice fly. O'er sorrow's darken'd chamber throw Go, bid the church of Jesus feel SACRED HARMONY. The winds breathe low; the withering leaf How beautiful on all the hills How mildly on the wandering cloud And now, above the dews of night, But soon the morning's happier light And eyelids that are sealed in death 173 What dost thou, Christian, 'midst the state And madness rules the hour! What dost thou, Christian, where, I wea The lowly Saviour ne'er had been! Shun, shun the gay, delusive scene, The poison'd chalice fly. O'er sorrow's darken'd chamber throw The light which soothes a mourner's we And wipe away the tears that flow From misery's melting eye. Go, bid the church of Jesus feel The impulse of thy sacred zeal: To aid thy kin, thy country's weal, Thy time, thy wealth employ So, when thy mortal race is run, Enthron'd in bliss, the incarnate Sen Shall say, "My servant, nobly done, "Partake thy Master's joy!" The winds breathe low; the withering leaf How beautiful on all the hills The crimson light is shed! 'Tis like the peace the Christian gives To mourners round his bed. How mildly on the wandering cloud The sunset beam is cast! 'Tis like the memory left behind When loved ones breathe their last. And now, above the dews of night, And eyelids that are sealed in death THE SINNER PARDONED. COWPER. Now let the bright reverse be known abroad; Say man's a worm, and power belongs to God. As when a felon whom his country's laws Have justly doomed for some atrocious cause, Expects in darkness and heart-chilling fears, The shameful close of all his mispent years; |