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The same. (P.M.) 1 PLEASING spring again is here!

Trees and fields in bloom appear! Hark! the birds, with artless lays, Warble their Creator's praise ! Where, in winter, all was snow, Now the flowers in clusters grow ;And the corn, in green array,

Promises a harvest-day. 2 What a change has taken place,

Emblem of the spring of grace ;
How the soul in winter mourns,
Till the Lord, the sun returns. .
Till the Spirit's gentle rain,
Bids the heart revive again,
Then the stone is turn'd to flesh,
Then each grace springs forth afresh.
3 Lord, afford a spring to me!

Let me feel like what I see ;
Ab! my winter has been long,
Chill’d my hopes, and stopp'd my song!
Winter threaten'd to destroy
Faith, and love, and every joy;
If thy life was in the root,

Still I could not yield thee fruit.
4 Speak, and by thy gracious voice,
Make my drooping soul rejoice;
0, beloved Saviour, haste,
Tell me all the storms are past:

On thy garden deign to smile,
Raise the plants, enrich the soil ;
Soon thy presence will restore

Life to what seem'd dead before. 5 Lord, I long to be at home,

Where these changes never come !
Where the saints no winter fear,
Where 'tis spring throughout the year :
How unlike this state below!
There the flowers unwith’ring blow;
There no chilling blasts annoy ;
All is love, and bloom, and joy.


The same. (P. M.)



VHE winter is over and gone,

The thrush whistles sweet on the spray The turtle breathes forth her soft moan,

The lark mounts and warbles away. 2 Shall every creature around,

Their voices in concert unite,
And I, the most favour'd, be found,

In praising, to take less delight?
3 Awake, then, my harp, and my lute!

Sweet organs, your notes softly swell!
No longer my lips shall be mute,

The Saviour's high praises to tell !
4 His love in my heart shed abroad,

My graces shall bloom as the spring;
This temple, his Spirit's abode;
My joy, as my duty, to sing.


A Hymn for the Spring. (C. M.) ?WHILE beauty

clothes the fertile vale, And blossoms on the spray, And fragrance breathes in every gale,

How sweet the vernal day! 2 How kind the influencc of the skies:

Soft showers, with blessings fraught, Bid verdure, beauty, fragrance rise,

And fix the roving thought.
3 0 let my wand'ring heart confess,

With gratitude and love,
The bounteous hand that deigns to bless,

The garden, field, and grove.
4 That bounteous hand my thoughts adore,

Beyond expression kind,
Hath sweeter, nobler gifts in store,

To bless the craving mind.
5 Inspir'd to praise, I then shall join,

Glad nature's cheerful song; And love and gratitude divine,

Attune my joyful tongue.

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For the Weeks of Harvest. (C.M.) 1 THE rising morn, the closing day,

Repeat thy praise with grateful voice; Both in their turns thy pow'r display, And laden with thy gifts rejoice,

2 Earth's wide extended, varying scenes,

All smiling round, thy bounty show;
From seas or clouds, full magazines,

Thy rich diffusive blessings flow.
3 Now earth receives the precious seed,

Which thy indulgent hand prepares ;
And nourishes the future bread,

And answers all the sower's cares.
4 Thy sweet refreshing show'rs attend,

And through the ridges gently flow,
Soft on the springing corn descend :

And thy kind blessing make it grow. 5 Thy goodness crowns the circling year;

Thy paths drop fatness all around;
E'en barren wilds thy praise declare,

And echoing hills return the sound. 6 Here spreading flocks adorn the plain;

There plenty ev'ry charm displays;
Thy bounty clothes each lovely scene,
And joyful nature shouts thy praise.


The same. (P. M.)

1 VEE! the corn again in ear!

How tbe fields and vallies smile!
Harvest now is drawing near,
To repay the farmer's toil;
Gracious Lord, secure the crop,
Satisfy the poor with food ;
In thy mercy is our hope,
We have sinu’d, but thou art good.

2 While I view the plenteous grain,
As it ripens on the stalk,
May I not instruction gain,
Helpful to my daily walk?
All this plenty of the field,
Was produc'd from foreign seeds;
For the earth itself would yield,

Only crops of useless weeds.
3 Though, when newly sown, it lay

Hid awhile beneath the ground,
(Some might think it thrown away,)
Now a large increase is found:
Though conceald, it was not lost,
Though it dy'd, it lives again ;-
Eastern storms, and nipping frost,

Have oppos'd its growth in vain. 4 Let the praise be all the Lord's,

As the benefit is our's !
He, in season, still affords,
Kindly heat, and gentle show'rs :
By his care the produce thrives,
Waving o'er the furrow'd lands;
And when harvest-time arrives,

Ready for the reaper stands.
5 Thus in barren hearts he sows,

Precious seeds of heavenly joy ;
Sin and hell in vain oppose, -
None this harvest can destroy :
Threaten'd oft, yet still it blooms,

many changes past,
Death, the reaper, when he comes,
Finds it fully ripe at last.


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