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WHEN I consider how my light is spent

Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide;
And that one talent, which is death to hide,
Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent

To serve therewith my Maker, and present

My true account, lest He, returning, chide;"Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?" I fondly ask But Patience, to prevent That murmur, soon replies,- "God doth not need Either man's work, or his own gifts; who best Bear his mild yoke, they serve Him best; his state

Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed,

And post o'er land and ocean without rest;

They also serve, who only stand and wait."


BLEST pair of Syrens, pledges of Heaven's joy,
Sphere-born harmonious sisters, Voice and Verse,
Wed your divinest sounds, and mixed power employ
Dead things with inbreathed sense able to pierce;
And to our high-raised phantasy present
That undisturbed song of pure concent,

Aye sung before the sapphire-coloured throne,
To Him that sits thereon,

With saintly shout, and solemn jubilee :
Where the bright seraphim, in burning row,
Their loud uplifted angel-trumpets blow;
And the cherubic host, in thousand quires,
Touch their immortal harps of golden wires,
With those just spirits that wear victorious palms,
Hymns devout and holy psalms

Singing everlastingly :

That we on earth, with undiscording voice

May rightly answer that melodious noise;

As once we did, till disproportioned sin

Jarred against nature's chime, and with harsh din Broke the fair music that all creatures made,

To their great Lord, whose love their motion swayed In perfect diapason, whilst they stood

In first obedience, and their state of good.

Oh, may we soon again renew that song,

And keep in tune with heaven, till God ere long
To his celestial concert us unite,

To live with him, and sing in endless morn of light.

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MANY are the sayings of the wise

In ancient and in modern books enrolled,
Extolling patience as the truest fortitude;
And to the bearing well of all calamities,
All chances incident to man's frail life.
Consolatories writ

With studied argument, and much persuasion sought,
Lenient of grief and anxious thought,

But with th' afflicted in his pangs their sound

Little prevails, or rather seems a tune

Harsh, and of dissonant mood from his conjuring up.

Unless he feels within

Some source of consolation from above,
Secret refreshings, that repair his strength,
And fainting spirits uphold.



LORD, it belongs not to my care,

Whether I die or live;

To live and serve Thee is my share,
And this Thy grace must give.
If life be long, I will be glad,
That I may long obey;

If short, yet why should I be sad,
That shall have the same pay?

Christ leads me through no darker rooms
Than He went through before;

He that unto God's kingdom comes

Must enter by this door.

Come, Lord! when grace has made me meet

Thy blessed face to see;

For if Thy work on earth be sweet,

What must Thy glory be?

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