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THE LARK AND THE DOVE.

They that are merry, let them sing,

And let the sad hearts pray:
Let those still ply their cheerful wing,

And these their sober lay.
So mounts the early warbling lark

Still upward to the skies ;
So sits the turtle in the dark,

Amidst her plaintive cries.
And yet the lark, and yet the dove,

Both sing, though different parts ;
And so should we, howe'er we move,

With light or heavy hearts.
Or rather, we should each essay,

And our cross notes unite ;
Both grief and joy should sing and pray,

Since both such hopes invite,-
Hopes that all present sorrow heal,

All present joy transcend;
Hopes to possess, and taste, and feel

Delights that never end.

HICKES.

PART OF PSALM CXXXVII.

By the proud banks of great Euphrates' flood,

There we sate, and there we wept ;

178

PSALM CXLVIII.

Our harps, that now no music understood,

Nodding on the willows, slept;
While unhappy, captiv'd we,

Lovely Sion, thought on thee.
They, they that snatch'd us from our country's

breast, Would have a song carv'd to their ears, In Hebrew numbers, then, (0 cruel jest !) When harps and hearts were drown'd in

tears : Come,” they cried, “ come, sing and play

One of Sion's songs to-day!" Sing !- Play!--to whom, ah! shall we sing and

play,
If not, Jerusalem, to thee?
Ah, thee, Jerusalem! Ah, sooner may

This hand forget the mastery
Of music's dainty touch, than I
The music of thy memory.

CRASHAW.

PSALM CXLVIII.

Ye who dwell above the skies
Free from human miseries,
You whom highest heaven embowers,
Praise the Lord with all your powers.
Angels, your clear voices raise,
Him your heavenly armies praise ;

PSALM CXLVIII.

179

Sun, and moon with borrow'd light,
All you sparkling eyes of night,
Waters hanging in the air,
Heaven of heavens His praise declare.
His deserved praise record,
His who made you by His Word,
Made

you evermore to last,
Set you bounds not to be past.
Let the earth His praise resound,
Monstrous whales and seas profound;
Vapours, lightnings, hail and snow,
Storms which when He bids them blow;
Flowery hills and mountains high ;
Cedars, neighbours to the sky;
Trees that fruit in season yield ;
All the cattle of the field,
Savage beasts, all creeping things,
All that cut the air with wings;
You who awful sceptres sway,
You inured to obey,
Princes, judges of the earth,
All of high and humble birth ;
Youths and virgins flourishing
In the beauty of your spring,
You who bow with age’s weight,
You who were but born of late;
Praise His Name with one consent.
Oh, how great! how excellent !
Than the earth profounder far,
Higher than the bighest star,

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He will us to honour raise :
You, His saints, resound His praise ;
You who are of Jacob's race,
And united to His grace.

SANDYS.

CATECHISM.

Он, ,

say not, dream not, heavenly notes
To childish ears are vain ;
That the

young

mind at random floats,
And cannot reach the strain.
Dim or unheard the words

may

fall,
And yet the heaven-taught mind
May learn the sacred air, and all

The harmony unwind.
Was not our Lord a little child,

Taught by degrees to pray;
By father dear, and mother mild,

Instructed day by day ?
And lov'd He not of heaven to talk,

With children in His sight;
To meet them in His daily walk,

And to His arms invite ?
What though around His throne of fire

The everlasting chant
Be wafted from the seraph-choir

In glory jubilant !

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Yet stoops He, ever pleas’d to mark

Our rude essays of love,
Faint as the pipe of wak’ning lark,

Heard by some twilight grove.
Yet is He near us, to survey

These bright and order'd files,
Like spring-flow’rs in their best array,

All silence and all smiles.
Save that each little voice in turn

Some glorious truth proclaims,
What sages would have died to learn,

Now taught by cottage dames.
And if some tones be false or low,

What are all pray’rs beneath
But cries of babes, that cannot know

Half the deep thoughts they breathe?
In His own words we Christ adore ;

But angels, as we speak, Higher above our meaning soar

Than we o'er children weak.

And yet His words mean more than they,

And yet He owns their praise : Why should we think He turns away

From infants' simple lays ?

KEBLE

R

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