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And false the light on Glory's plume
As fading hues of even,
And love, and hope, and beauty's bloom
Poor wanderers of a stormy day,
HYMN ON THE SPRING.
WHILE Nature, full of milder grace,
Chaunt jocund on exulting wing!
The rising flowers, the budding trees,
Hail! Parent! God! Creator! hail!
When morn dispels the shades of night,
When eve succeeds retiring light,
Thy name still animates my lay.
While, taught by thy unerring skill,
Bids each be born; and born, sustains.
The cattle on a thousand hills,
All, all confess thy tender care,
And thine Almighty Power proclaim;
Where thy great hand describes their race. The dew-bent clouds, for Thee, their Lord, Distill the gentle kindly shower; Or, ready to fulfil thy word,
The fierce impetuous torrent pour.
Restrain'd by thee, the fanning gales
The thick wood's waving surface sweep, Or, loosed, rush headlong through the vales, And plough the hoarse-resounding deep.
At thy command, in silent flakes
Congeal'd descends the fleecy snow; Vast ice incrusts the stagnate lakes; And streams arrested cease to flow.
By thy Almighty Nod enlarged,
The awful thunder shakes the skies;
'See this, thou madly stubborn mind,
The wise, the wondrous plan advance;
'Put off the mean, the fatal pride
Which turns thy foot from truth's plain road, And own a God alone supplied
The very power to doubt a God.
'From Him, the' exhaustless source of good, Thy parts, thine active spirits flow; Through His kind aid is understood All art can teach, all man can know. 'And art thou still perversely wrong? Thy rash resolves can nothing move? Not all the amazing proofs that throng Within, around thee, and above! 'Persist! but, know the day will come, (Be sure 'twill come ;-perhaps 'tis near!) When thou, beneath conviction dumb,
Confused and conscious shalt appear;
'When thou with shame, remorse, and tears, Shalt open thine unwilling eyes;
Shalt feel the truth thy folly sneers;
Exalted then to perfect bliss,
O'er worlds of joy the good shall rove; Who sought those happier worlds in this, Through faith, integrity, and love.
Transporting thought! O God! thy grace,
Bright and more bright its beams displays,
In vain, my Muse, thy hand essays
Which scarce eternity can tell.
Beath of the Rev. Thomas Spencer, of Liverpool,
WHO WAS DROWNED IN BATHING IN THE TIDE, AUGUST 5, 1811.
Thy way is in the sea, and thy path in the great waters, and thy footsteps are not known. Psalm Ïxxvii. 19.
I WILL not sing a mortal's praise;
To whom my powers belong;
The glory of my song.
In earth and ocean, sky and air,
I worship not the sun at noon,
I will not bow the votive knee
To wisdom, virtue, liberty;
'There is no god but GOD' for me, Jehovah is his name.
Him through all nature I explore;
But clearest in the human mind
O, there was One-on earth awhile
His beauteous image pass'd us by;
Sweet in his undissembling mien