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04.

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.

205.

The same. (P. M.)

1 THE

1

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.

206.

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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HARVEST. 107.

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.

208.

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,
After

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

R

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