AMIDST the various scenes of ills,
Each stroke some kind design fulfils;
And shall I murmur at my God,
When sovereign love directs the rod ?
Peace, rebel thoughts, I'll not complain,
My Father's smiles suspend my pain;
Smiles that a thousand joys impart,
And pour the balm that heals my heart.
Though heaven afflict, I'll not repine,
A heart-felt comfort still is mine;
Comfort that shall o'er death prevail,
And journey with me through the vale.
My Saviour! smooth my rugged way,
And lead me to the realms of day:
To milder skies and brighter plains,
Where everlasting sunshine reigns.
THERE'S nothing bright, above, below,
From flower that blooms to stars that glow,
But in its light my soul can see
Some feature of the Deity.
There's nothing dark, below, above,
But in its gloom I trace thy love,
And meekly wait that moment, when,
Thy touch shall turn all bright again.
SEE the fair and fragrant flowers
Peeping their green mantles thro',
Weeping 'neath the passing showers,
Smiling 'neath the sudden blue;
See their lovely colours blended,
Brought from many a varying clime
And with careful nurture tended,
Till they reach their fullest prime.
So the Church, a water'd garden,
Bounded by the Almighty's power,
Feels his mercy's gracious pardon,
Feels his Spirit's gentle shower;
So from many a scatter'd nation
Are his chosen brought with care,
Given the life of his Salvation,
Rooted, grounded, 'stablished there!
O! may we indeed be taken
From the world's polluted waste, By his presence ne'er forsaken,
All his vital spirit taste,
Where the streams of life are flowing, Land by saints and prophets trod.
May we still be freshly growing
In the garden of our GOD!
HE is the happy man, whose life e'en now
Shows somewhat of that happier life to come :
Who, doom'd to an obscure but tranquil state,
Is pleas'd with it, and were he free to choose,
Would make his fate his choice; whose peace the
fruit
Of virtue, and whose virtue, fruit of faith,
Prepare for happiness; bespeak him one
Content indeed to sojourn while he must
Below the skies, but having there his home,
The world o'erlooks him in her busy search
Of objects, more illustrious in her view:
And occupied as earnestly as she,
Though more sublimely, he o'erlooks the world,
She scorns his pleasures, for she knows them not;
He seeks not her's for he has proved them vain,
He cannot skim the ground like summer birds
Pursuing gilded flies; and such he deems
Her honours, her emoluments, her joys.
Therefore, in contemplation is his bliss.
Whose pow'r is such, that whom she lifts from earth,
She makes familiar with a heaven unseen,
And shows him glories yet to be reveal'd.
THE OCEAN.
Psalm cvii. 23, 24,
O GOD! thy name they well may praise,
Who to the deep go down,
And trace the wonders of thy ways,
Where rocks and billows frown.
If glorious be that awful deep,
No human power can bind,
What then art Thou, who bid'st it keep,
Within its bounds confined ?
Let heaven and earth in praise unite,
Eternal praise to Thee,
Whose word can raise the tempest's might,
Or still the raging sea.
A HEBREW MELODY.
SOUND the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea l
Jehovah has triumph'd--his people are free.
His chariots and horsemen, all splendid and brave,
How vain was their boasting!-The Lord hath
And chariots and horsemen, are sunk in the wave.
Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea;
Jehovah has triumph'd-his people are free!
Praise to the conqueror, praise to the Lord;
His word was our arrow, his breath was our
sword!
Who shall return to tell Egypt the story
Of those she sent forth in the hour of her pride ? For the Lord hath look'd out from his pillar of glory,
And all her brave thousands were dash'd in the tide.
Sound the loud timbrel, o'er Egypt's dark sea!
Jehovah has triumph'd,―his people are free!
THE Fly around the candle wheels,
Enjoys the sport, and gaily sings,
Till nearer, nearer borne, he feels
The flame like lightning on his wings;
Then struggling in the gulf below he lies,
And limb by limb, scorched miserably, dies.
So thou not swifter o'er the course,
The racer glances to the goal,
Than thou, with blind and headlong force,
Art running on, to lose thy soul;
Then, though the world were won, how dear the cost!
Can the whole world avail a spirit lost?
SEE how beneath the moonbeam's smile
Yon little billow heaves its breast,
And foams and sparkles for awhile,
And murmuring, then subsides to rest.
Thus man, the sport of bliss and care,
Rises on time's eventful sea,
And having swelled a moment there,
Thus melts into eternity.
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