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If down I turn my wond'ring eyes,
On clouds and storms below; Those lower regions of the skies
Thy num'rous glories show.
The noisy winds stand ready there
Thine orders to obey ; With sounding wings they sweep the air,
To make thy chariot way.
The rolling mountains of the deep
Obey thy stern command;
Or sink them on the sand.
Thy glories blaze all nature round,
And strike the gazing sight, Thro’ skies, and seas, and solid ground,
With terror and delight.
But the mild glories of the Lord,
Our softer passions move;
We see, adore and love.
ON THE DECAY OF HUMANKIND.
Beliold that free, in autunn's dim decay,
Stript by the frequent, chill, and eddying wind; Where yet some yellow, lonely leaves we find
Lingering and trembling on the naked spray, Twenty, perchance, for millions whirl'd away!
Emblem, alas! too just of humankind!
For few indeed; and their protracted day
The blasts of sickness, care, and grief appal,
That laid the friends in dust, whose natal morn Rose near their own ;--and solemn is the call;,
Yet, like those weak, deserted leaves forlorn, Shivering they cling to life, and fear to fall !
THE DYING SAINT.
When life's tempestuous storms are o'er ;
Who liv'd averse to sin,
The good man's joys begin.
See smiling patience smooth his brow! See bending angels downward buw!
To lift his soul on high; While eager for the blest abode, He joins with them to praise the God
Who taught him how to die.
The horrors of the grave and hell, Those borrors which the wicked feel,
In vain their gloom display; For he who bids yon comet burn, Or makes the night descend, can turn
Their darkness into day.
No sorrow drowns his lifted eyes,
As from the sinner's breast,
And heals his soul with rest.
Ogrant, my Saviour, and my friend, Such joys may gild my peaceful end,
And calm my evening close; While loos’d from every earthly tie, With steady confidence I fiy
To hina from whence I rose.
Whatever blessing you my life deny,
I charge thee guardian spirit hear, And as tbou lov'st me, further this my prayer.
When I'm to leave this grosser sphere, and try Death, that amazing curiosity,
When just about to breathe my last. Then when no mortal joy can strike my taste:
Let me soft melting strains of music hear,
Gently the bands of life unty,
How soft and easy my new birth will be
And I who ’midst these charms expire, Shall bring a soul well tun'd to Heaven's quire.
A Sacred Eclogue.
Ye nymphs of Solyma! begin the song:
Rapt into future times, the bard begun :