In the light of heaven one instant shone
Both Lords and towers, and the next-were gone. Dark over them swept the mighty main ;
And the Giant Sea had his own again.
37. GRATITUDE TO GOD.
WHEN all thy mercies, O my God,
My rising soul surveys;
Transported with the view, I'm lost
In wonder, love, and praise.
O, how shall words, with equal warmth,
The gratitude declare
That glows within my ravish'd heart!
But Thou canst read it there.
Thy providence my life sustain'd,
And all my wants redrest,
When in the silent womb I lay,
And hung upon the breast.
To all my weak complaints and cries,
Thy mercy lent an ear,
Ere yet my feeble thoughts had learnt
To form themselves in prayer.
Unnumber'd comforts to my soul
Thy tender care bestow'd,
Before my infant heart conceived
From whence these comforts flow'd.
When in the slippery paths of youth,
With heedless steps I ran;
Thine arm, unseen, convey'd me safe,
And led me up to man.
Through hidden dangers, toils, and death,
It gently clear'd my way;
And through the pleasing snares of vice,
More to be fear'd than they.
When worn with sickness, oft hast Thou
With health renew'd my face;
And when in sin and sorrow sunk,
Revived my soul with grace.
Thy bounteous hand with worldly bliss
Has made my cup run o'er,
And in a kind and faithful friend
Has doubled all my store.
Ten thousand thousand precious gifts,
My daily thanks employ;
Nor is the least a cheerful heart,
That tastes those gifts with joy.
Through every period of my life,
Thy goodness I'll pursue;
And, after death, in distant worlds,
The glorious theme renew.
When nature fails, and day and night
Divide thy works no more,
My ever-grateful heart, O Lord,
Thy mercy shall adore.
Through all eternity to Thee
A joyful song I'll raise;
For, oh! eternity's too short
To utter all thy praise!
38. THE THREE SONS.
HAVE a son, a little son, a boy just five years old,
I With eyes of thoughtful earnestness, and mind of gentle mould;
They tell me that unusual grace in all his ways appears,
That my child is grave and wise of head, beyond his childish years.
I cannot say how this may be, I know his face is fair,
And yet his chiefest comeliness is his sweet and serious air;
I know his heart is kind and fond, I know he loveth me,
And loveth yet his mother more, with grateful fervency.
But that which others most admire is the thought that fills his
mind,
The food for grave inquiring speech he everywhere doth find.
Strange questions doth he ask of me, when we together walk;
He scarcely thinks as children think, or talks as children talk;
Nor cares he much for childish play, doats not on bat or ball,
But looks on manhood's ways and works, and aptly mimics all.
His little head is busy still, and oftentimes perplex'd
With thoughts about this world of care, and thoughts about the
He kneels at his dear mother's knee, she teacheth him to pray, And strange, and sweet, and solemn are the words which he will
Oh! should my gentle child be spared to manhood's years like me, A holier and a wiser man I trust that he will be;
And when I look into his eyes, and stroke his thoughtful brow, I dare not think what I should feel, were I to lose him now.
I have a son, a second son, a simple child of three,
I'll not declare how bright and fair his little features be;
How silver sweet those tones of his when he prattles on my knee."
I do not think his light blue eyes are, like his brother's, keen, Nor his brow so full of childish thought as his hath ever been; But his little heart's a fountain pure of mind and tender feeling, And his very look 's a gleam of light, rich depths of love revealing. When he walks with me, the country folks, who pass him in the street,
Will shout for joy, and bless my boy, he looks so mild and sweet.
A playfellow he is to all, and yet, with cheerful tone,
Will sing his quiet song of love, when left to play alone.
His presence is like sunshine, sent to gladden home and hearth,
To comfort us in all our griefs, and sweeten all our mirth.
Should he grow up to riper years, God grant his heart may prove
As meet a home for heavenly grace, as now for earthly love;
And if beside his grave the tears our aching eyes may dim,
God comfort us for all the love that we shall lose in him!
I have a son, a third sweet son, his age I cannot tell,
For they reckon not by months and years, where he is gone to
To us, for fourteen anxious months, his infant smiles were given,
And then he bade farewell to earth, and went to live in heaven.
I cannot tell what form is his, what looks he weareth now,
Nor guess how bright a glory crowns his shining seraph brow:
The thoughts that fill his sinless soul, the bliss which he doth
feel,
Are number'd with the secret things which God will not reveal.
But I know, for God doth tell me this, that now he is at rest,
Where other blessed infants be, on their Saviour's loving breast;
I know his spirit feels no more the weary load of flesh,
But his sleep is blest with endless dreams of joy for ever fresh;
I know that we shall meet our babe, his mother dear, and I,
When God himself shall wipe away all tears from every eye.
Whate'er befalls his brethren twain, his bliss can never cease,
Their lot may here be grief and care, but his is certain peace.
It may be that the tempter's wiles their souls from bliss may sever,
But if our own poor faith fail not, he must be ours for ever!
When we think of what our darling is, and what we still may be,
When we muse on that world's perfect bliss, and this world's
misery,
When we groan bencath this load of sin, and feel this grief and pain,
Oh! we'd rather lose our other two, than have him here again!
39. THE LAST OF THE FLOCK.
distant countries have I been,
And yet, I have not often seen
A healthy man, a man full grown,
Weep in the public roads alone.
But such an one, on English ground,
And in the broad highway I met;
Along the broad highway he came,
His cheeks with tears were wet;
Sturdy he seem'd, though he was sad,
And in his arms a lamb he had.
He saw me, and he turn'd aside,
As if he wish'd himself to hide;
Then with his coat he made essay
To drive those briny tears away.
I follow'd him, and said-"My friend,
What ails you? wherefore weep you so?"
"Shame on me, sir! this lusty lamb,
He makes my tears to flow:
To-day I fetch'd him from the rock-
He is the last of all my flock.
"When I was young, a single man,
And after youthful follies ran,
Though little giv'n to care and thought,
Yet, so it was, an ewe I bought;
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