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Or if perchance a sadden'd heart
That once was gay and felt the spring, Cons slowly o'er its alter'd part,
In sorrow and remorse to sing,
Thy gracious care will send that way
Some spirit full of glee, yet taught To bear the sight of dull decay,
And nurse it with all pitying thought ;
Cheerful as soaring lark, and mild
As evening blackbird's full-ton'd lay, When the relenting sun has smil'd
Bright through a whole December day.
These are the tones to brace and cheer
The lonely watcher of the fold, When nights are dark, and foemen near,
When visions fade and hearts grow cold.
How timely then a comrade's song
Comes floating on the mountain air, And bids thee yet be bold and strong
Fancy may die, but Faith is there.
ALL SAINTS' DAY.
Hurt not the earth, neither the sea, nor the trees, till we have sealed the servants of our God in their foreheads. Revelations vii. 3.
WHY blow'st thou not, thou wintry wind,
Now every leaf is brown and sere,
The fading chaplet of the year?
Of silvery haze, and dark and still
How quiet shews the woodland scene!
Each flower and tree, its duty done,
Like weary men when age is won,
Such calm old age as conscience pure
Waiting their summons to the sky,
Sure if our eyes were purg'd to trace
God's unseen armies hovering round,
The four strong winds of Heaven fast bound,
Till the last flower of autumn shed
So in thine awful armoury, Lord,
The lightnings of the judgment day Pause yet awhile, in mercy stor'd,
Till willing hearts wear quite away Their earthly stains; and spotless shine On every brow in light divine
The cross by angel hands impress'd, The seal of glory won and pledge of promis'd rest.
Little they dream, those haughty souls
Whom empires own with bended knee,
What lowly fate their own controuls,
Together link'd by Heaven's decree ;As bloodhounds hush their baying wild To wanton with some fearless child,
So Famine waits, and War with greedy eyes, Till some repenting heart be ready for the skies.
Think ye the spires that glow so bright
In front of yonder setting sun, Stand by their own unshaken might?
No—where th' upholding grace is won, We dare not ask, nor Heaven would tell, But sure from many a hidden dell,
From many a rural nook unthought of there, Rises for that proud world the saints' prevailing prayer.
On, champions blest, in Jesus' name,
Short be your strife, your triumph full, Till every heart have caught your flame,
And lighten'd of the world's misrule Ye soar those elder saints to meet, Gather'd long since at Jesus' feet,
No world of passions to destroy, Your prayers and struggles o'er, your task all praise
O GOD of Mercy, God of Might,
For now thy people are allow'd
Fresh from th' atoping sacrifice