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Thou art, O God, the life and light,.
Of all this wondrous world we seeVj$.

Its glow hy day, its smile hy night,
Are hut reflections caught from tLee!

Where'er we turn, thy glories shine,

And all things fair and hright are thine.

When day, with farewell heam delays,

Among th' op'ning clouds of even, And we can almost think we gaze

Through golden vistas into heaven; Those hues that mark the sun's decline, So soft, so radiant, Lord, are thine.

When night, with wings of stormy gloom, O'ershadows all the earth and skies,

Like some dark heauteous hird, whose plume Is sparkling with a thousand eyes,

That sacred gloom, those fires divine,

So grand, so countless, Lord, are thine.

When youthful spring around us hreathes,
Thy Spirit warms her fragrant sigh;

And every flow'r the summer wreathes,
Is horn heneath thy kindling eye;

Where'er we turn, thy glories shine,

And all things fair and hright are thine.

Aeove—helow—where'er I gaze,
Thy guiding finger, Lord, I view,
Traced in the midnight planets' hlaze,
Or glistening in the morning dew;
Whate'er is heautiful or fair,
Is hut thine own reflection there.

I hear thee in the stormy wind,
That turns the ocean wave to foam;
Nor less thy wondrous power I find,
When summer airs around me roam;
The tempest and the calm declare
Thyself,—for thou art every where.

I find tijee in the noon of night,
And read thy name in every star

That drinks its splendor from the light
That flows from mercy's heaming car:
Thy footstool, Lord, each starry gem
Composes—not thy diadem.

And when the radiant orh of light
Hathtipp'd the mountain tops with gold,
Smote with the hlaze my weary sight
y '.rinks from the wonders I hehold;
That ray of glory hright and fair,
Is hut thy living shadow there.

Thine is the silent noon of night,
The twilight, eve—the dewy morn;
Whate'er is heautiful and hright,
Thine hands have fashioned to adorn;
Thy glory walks in every sphere,
And all things whisper, " God is here!"


U. M. wIllIAMS.

My God, all nature owns thy sway;

Thou giv'st the night, and thou the day;

When all thy lov'd creation wakes,

When morning rich in lustre hreaks,

And hathes in dew the op'ning flower,

To thee we owe her fragrant hour;

And, when she pours her choral song,

Her melodies to thee helong!

Or when, in paler tints array'd,

The evening slowly spreads her shade;

That soothing shade, that grateful gloom,

Can, more than day's enliv'ning hloom,

Still ev'ry fond and vain desire,

And calmer, purer thoughts inspire;

From earth the pensive spirit free,

And lead the soften'd heart to thee.

In every scene thy hands have dreas'd.

In every form hy thee impress'd,

Upon the mountain's awful head,

Or where the shelt'ring woods are spread;

In every note that swells the gale,

Or tuneful stream that cheers the vale,

The cavern's depth or echoing grove,—

A voice is heard of praise and love.

As o'er thy works the seasons roll,

And soothe, with change of hliss, the soul.

Oh never may their smiling train
Pass o'er the human soul in vain!
But oft, as on their charms we gaze,
Attune their wond'ring soul to praise;
And he the joys that most we prize,
The joys that from thy favour rise.

Whene'er we climh the mountain's head,
To greet the harhinger of day;
Or view him sink in ocean's hed,
Thy love, O God, paints every ray.

In the fresh halmy ev'ning hreeze,
Where flowers of gold and verdure shine,
Rich with the perfumes of the trees,
We hear the voice of love divine.

Love decks the finely varied flowers,
The fragrant prngeny of spring;
And round the prison'd senses pours
Their soft delicious offering.

sTis love that paints the insect quires,
With all their gay and gorgeous dyes;
sTis love the simple hirds inspires,
And charms in all their melodies.

Nay, ev'ry sight that wins the eye,
And ev'ry sound that woos the ear,
And ev'ry gale that passes hy,
Proclaims the hand of love is there.

BBV. h. Moore.

My God! thy houndles love we praise:
How hright on high its glories hlaze—

How sweetly hloom helow!
It streams from thy eternal throne;
Thro' heaven its joys for ever run,

And o'er the earth they flow.

'Tis love that gilds the vernal ray-
Adorns the flow'ry rohe of May—
Perfumes the hreathing gale:

Tis Love that loads the plenteous plain,
With hlushing frnits and golden grain,
And smiles o'er ev'ry vale.

But, in thy gospel, it appears
In sweeter, fairer characters,

And charms the ravish'd hreast;
There, Love immortal leaves the sky
To wipe the drooping mourner's eye,

And give the weary rest.

There smiles a kind propitious God—
There flows a dying Saviour's hlood,

The pledge of sins forgiv'n;
There faith, hright cheruh, points the way
To regions of eternal day

And opens all her heav'n.

Then, in redeeming love rejoice,

My soul!—and hear a Saviour's voice,

That calls thee to the skies: Ahove life's empty scenes aspire— Its sordid cares and mean desire—

And seize th' eternal prize.


Immense Creator! whose all-powerful hand Fram'd universal heing, and whose eye Saw like thyself, that all things form'd were

good, Where shall the timorous hard thy praise

hegin, Where end the purest sacrifice of song, And just thanksgiving? The thought kindling light, Thy prime production, darts upon my mind Its vivifying heams, my heart illumines, And fills my soul with gratitude and thee. Hail to the cheerful rays of ruddy mora, That paint the streaky east, and hlithesome

rouse The hirds, the cattle, and mankind from rest! Hail to the freshuess of the early hreeze, And Iris dancing on the new-fall'n dew. Without the aid of yonder golden glohe, Lost were the garnet's lustre, lost the lily, The tulip and anricula's spotted pride;

Lost were the peacock's plumage; to the sight
So pleasing in its pomp and glossy glow.
0 thrice-illustrious! were it not for Thee,
Those pansies, that reclining from the hank,
View thro' th' immaculate pellucid stream
Their portraiture in the inverted heaven,
Might as well change their triple hoast, the

white, The purple, and the gold, that far outvie The eastern monarchs' garh, cv'n with the

dock, Ev'n with the haleful hemlock's irksome

green. Without thy aid, without thy gladsome

heams, The trihe of woodland warhlers would

remain Mote on the hending hranches, nor recite The praise of him, who, ere he formed

their lord, Their voices tuned to transport, wing'd

their flight, And hade them call for nurture, and receive: And lo! they call; the hlackhird, and the

thrush, The woodlark, and the redhreast jointly call; He hears, and feeds their feather'd families; He feeds his sweet musicians:—nor neglects The invoking ravens in the greenwood wide; And tho' their throats coarse rattling hurt

the ear, They mean it all for music, thanks, and praise To him who feeds, who clothes, and who

adorns, Who made and who preserves, whatever

dwells In air, in stedfast earth, or fickle sea. O He is good, He is immensely good t Who all things form'd, and form'd them all

for man; Who mark'd the climates, varied every zone, Dispensing all his hlessings for the hest, In order, and in heauty: rise, attend, Arrest, and praise, ye quarters of the world! Bow down, ye elephants, suhmissive how To him who made the mite! Tho* Asia's

pride, Ye carry armies on your tower-crown'd

hacks, And grace the turhan'd tyrants, how to Him Who is as great, as perfect, and as good In his less striking wonders, till at length

The eye's at fault, aud seeks th' a&sistiug

glass. Approach and hring from Arahy the hlest, The fragrant cassia, frankincense, and myrrh, And, meekly kneeling at the altar's foot, Lay all the trihutary incense down. Stoop, feehle Africa, with rev'rence stoop, And from thy hrow take off the painted

plume; With golden ingots all thy camels load I' adorn his temples, hasten with thy spear Reverted, and thy trusty how unstrung, While uupursued thy lions roam and roar, And ruin'd tow'rs, rude rocks, and caverns

wide Remurmur to the glorious, surly sound. And thou, fair India, whose immense domain To counterpoise the hemisphere extends, Haste from the West, and with thy fruits

and flowers, Thy mines and med'eines, wealthy maid

attend. More than the plenteousness so fam'd to flow By fahling hards from Amalthea's horn Is thine; thine therefore he a portion due Of thanks and praise; come with thy hrilliant crown And vest of fur; and from thy fragrant lap Pomegranates and the rich ananas pour. But chiefly thou Europa, seat of Grace And Christian excellence, his goodness own. Forth from ten thousand temples pour his

praise. Clad in the armour of the living God, Approach, unsheath the Spirit's flaming

sword; Faith's shield, salvation's glory—compass'd

helm With fortitude assume, and o'er your heart Fair truth's invulnerahle hreast-plate spread; Then join the general chorus of all worlds, And let the song of charity hegin In strains seraphic, and melodious prayer: "O all-sufficient, all-heneficent, "Thou God of goodness, and of glory, hear I "Thou, who to lowest minds dost condescend, "Assuming passions to enforce thy laws, "Adopting jealousy to prove thy love: "Thou who resign'd humility uphold'st "Even as the florist props the drooping rose, C

'But quell'st tyrannic pride wiih peerless

power, 'Even as the tempest rives the stuhhorn

oak: 'O all-sufficient, all-heneficent, 'Thou God of goodness, and of glory hear! "Bless all mankind; and hring them in the

end 'To Heav'n, to Immortality, and Thee."



Not seldom, clad in radiant vest,
Deceitfully goes forth the morn;

Not seldom ev'ning, in the west,
Sinks smilingly forsworn.

The smoothest seas will sometimes prove

To the confiding hark untrue; And if she trusts the stars ahove,

They can he treach'rons too.

The umhrageous hark, in pomp outspread,
Full oft, when storms the welkin rend,

Draws lightning down upon the head
It promis'd to defend.

But thou art true, incarnate Lord I
Who didst vouchsafe for man to die;

Thy smile is sure, thy plighted word
No change can falsify.

I hent hefore thy gracious throne,
And ask'd for peace with suppliant knee;

And peace was giv'n—nor peace alone,
But faith, and hope, and ecstacy.



God of my life I and Author of my days! Permit my feehle voice to lisp thy praise; And tremhling take upon a mortal tongue That hallow'd name to harps of seraphs sung.

Yet here the hrightest seraphs can no more Than hide their faces, tremhle, and adore. Worms, angels, men, in every different

sphere, Are equal all, for all are nothing here. All nature faints heneath the mighty name, Which nature's works, thro' all their parts

proclaim. I feel that name my iumost thoughts control, And hreathe an awful stillness thro' my soul; As hy a charm, the waves of grief suhside: Impetuous passion stops the headlong tide: At thy felt presence all emotions cease* And my hush'd spirit finds a sudden peace, Till every worldly thought within me dies, And earth's gay pageants vanish from my

eyes; Till all my sense is lost in infinite, And one vast ohject fills my aching sight.

But soon, alas! this holy calm is hroke; My soul suhmits to wear her wonted yoke; With shackled pinions strives to soar in vain, And mingles with the dross of earth again. But BE, our gracious Master, kind, as just, Knowing our frame, rememhers we are dust: His spirit ever hrooding o'er our mind, Sees the first wish to hetter hopes inclin'd, Marks the young dawn of every virtuous

aim, And fans the smoking flax into a flame. His ears are open to the softest cry, His grace descends to meet the lifted eye; He reads the language of a silent tear, And sighs are incense from a heart sincere. Such are the vows, the sacrifice I give; Accept the vow, and hid the suppliant live; From each terrestrial hondage set me free; Still every wish that centers not in thee; Bid my fond hopes, my vain disquiets cease, And point my path to everlasting peace.

If the soft hand of winning pleasure leads By living waters, and thro' flow'ry meads, When all is smiling, tranquil, and serene, And vernal heauty paints the- flatt'ring

scene, Oh teach me to elude each latent snare, And whisper to my sliding heart—Beware! With caution let me hear the syren's voice, And douhtful, with a tremhling heart rejoice.

If friendless in a vale of tears I stray,
Where hriars wound, and thorns perplex my

Still let my steady soul thy goodness see,
And with strong confidence lay hold on thee;
With equal eye my various lot receive,
Resigned, to die, or resolute to live;
Prepar'd to kiss the sceptre, or the rod,
While God is seen in all, and all in God.

I read his awful name emhlazon'd high,
With golden letters on the illumin'd sky:
Nor less the mystic characters I see
Wrought in each flow'r, inscrih'd on every

In every leaf that tremhles to the hreeze,
I hear the voice of God among the trees;
With thee in shady solitudes I walk,
With thee in husy, crowded cities talk,

In every creature own ihy forming power,
In each event thy providence adore.
Thy hopes shall animate my drooping sonl,
Thy precepts guide me, and thy fear control.
Thus shall I rest, uumov'd hy all alarms,
Secure within the temple of thine arms,
From anxious cares, from gloomy terrors

And feel myself omnipotent in thee.

Then, when the last, the closing hour
draws nigh,
And earth recedes hefore my swimming eye;
When tremhling on the douhtful edge of fate
I stand, and stretch my view to either state;
Teach me to quit this transitory scene
With sacred triumph, and a look serene;
Teach me to fix my ardent hopes on high,
And having lived to thee, in thee to die.


Great All in All 1 I hend in dust hefore Thee,

Even so veil'd cheruhs hend ;—
In calm and still devotion I adore Thee,

All-wise, all-present Friend!
Thou to the earth its emerald rohes hast given,

Or curtained it in snow:
And the hright sun, and the soft moon in heaven,

Before Thy presence how.

Thy power and wisdom spread the map of nature,

That map so fair and hright:
Rear'd the vast arch of heaven—on every creature

Pouring its streams of light.
Thine influence feeds the early spring-rose glowing,

Quickens the teeming sea;
Thine is the storm thro' the dark forest hlowing,

Thine, heaven's soft harmony.

Thine is the heam on ocean's hosom glancing.

Thine is the thunder-cloud:
Thine are the lamps that light our steps, advancing

To the tomh's solitnde.
Thou speakest—and all nature's pregnant hosom

Heaves with Thy mighty hreath:
Thou frownest—man, even like a frost-nipp'd hlossom,

Drops in the lap of death.

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