A THOUGHT ON THE SEA-SHORE.

"Though he be not far from every one of us."—Acts, xvii. 27.

BEYOND, beyond that boundless sea,

Above that dome of sky,

Further than thought itself can flee,

Thy dwelling is on high:

Yet, dear the awful thought to me,
That Thou, my God, art nigh:

Art nigh, and yet my labouring mind

Feels after Thee in vain,

Thee in these works of power to find,

Or to Thy seat attain.

Thy messenger, the stormy wind,

Thy path, the trackless main

These speak of Thee with loud acclaim;
They thunder forth thy praise,

The glorious honour of Thy name,
The wonders of Thy ways:

But Thou art not in tempest-flame,
Nor in day's glorious blaze.

We hear thy voice, when thunders roll,
Through the wide fields of air.

The waves obey Thy dread control;
Yet still Thou art not there.

Where shall I find Him, O my soul,

Oh, not in circling depth, or height,

But in the conscious breast,

Present to faith, though veil'd from sight,
There does His Spirit rest.

O come, thou Presence Infinite,

And make thy creature blest.

Happisburgh, June, 1822.

THE COMET.

(1811.)

MYSTERIOUS Visitant, whose beauteous light

Among the wondering stars so strangely gleams!

Like a proud banner in the train of Night,

Th' emblazon'd flag of Deity it streams

Infinity is written on thy beams;

And thought in vain would through the pathless sky Explore thy secret course. Thy circle seems

Too vast for Time to grasp. Oh, can that Eye

Which numbers hosts like thee, this atom Earth

descry?

O Thou, my every hope, my only fear!

Father of lights, round whom the systems roll, With all their suns and comets, sphere on sphere,

Thine all-pervading energy the soul,

Thyself the centre of the mighty whole!

When death shall purge this film of sense away,
And truth with irresistible control

Shall seize my ravish'd mind,-that awful day

How shall my soul sustain, that infinite survey?

Then shall I shudder at the guilty past,
Feeling thy awful presence on my heart.
Was it at Thee, O God, my sins I cast?
Oh, on my trembling soul thy mercy dart,
For now I feel how terrible Thou art.

Thou wert all-present, and I saw Thee not:

Thou art my bliss, and yet I said, Depart :

Murmur'd, though boundless Goodness fix'd my lot:And wilt Thou own the soul that Thee so oft forgot?

O wondrous thought! the High and Holy One

Inhabiting eternity, will make

The humble soul his dwelling-place.

The Sun

Whose rising beams on orbs innumerous break,

Doth shine as much for the poor reptile's sake.

To Him is nothing great, is nothing small.

He fills a world: He bids the insect take

Its being full of bliss: He form'd them all.

He guides the Comet's course, he marks the sparrow's fall.

Man-man, though in the dust his reptile birth,
Behold his nature now to God allied;

Link'd to the golden throne this creature Earth
By ties that shall eternally abide.

Let suns, let systems perish-Jesus died:

Nor shall one vital spark be quench'd in night, Which God has kindled. Here, my soul, confide,

Safe in the arms of Everlasting Might,

And circled with the beams of Uncreated Light.