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Thy power directed? Wisdom without bound.
My soul, in rapture drown'd;
That fearless it may soar on wings of fire,
For thou who only know'st, thou only canst inspire.
Omniscient Spirit! whose all-ruling power
Bids from each sense bright emanations beam;
Sighs in the gale; and warbles in the throat
Whilst envious artists touch the rival string,
Breathes in rich fragrance from the sandal grove,
In dulcet juice from clustering fruit distils,
Thy present influence fills;
In air, in floods, in caverns, woods and plains,
Blue crystal vault and elemental fires
That in ethereal fluid blaze and breathe;
Thou tossing main, whose snaky branches wreathe This pensile globe with intertwisted gyres;
Mountains, whose radiant spires
Presumptuous rear their summits to the skies,
And blend their emerald hues with sapphire light;
Smooth meads, and lawns, that glow with varying dyes,
Of dew-bespangled leaves and blossoms bright,
Delusive pictures, unsubstantial shows!
Hence planets learn their course :—
'Twas summer, and a Sabbath eve,
I saw a sight that made me grieve,
And yet the sight was fair:
Within a little coffin lay
Two lifeless babes as sweet as May.
Like waxen dolls which children dress,
A look of placid happiness
And in the coffin short and wide,
A rose-bud nearly closed I found
And many a pink was strow'd around
And yet the flowers that round them lay
Their mother, as a lily pale,
Sat by them on the bed;
And bending o'er them told her tale;
Yet oft she cried amidst her pain,
THE CHRISTIAN MOURNER'S PROSPECT OF DEATH.
THE hour, the hour, the parting hour,
How sweet, while on this broken lyre
To feel it strung with chords of fire,
To praise the immortal One, my soul!
How sweet, while waning fast away
The golden dawn arise, my soul!
In ever-living love, my soul!
The hour, the hour, so pure and calm,
THEN never tear shall fall,
The heart shall ne'er be cold;
And life's rich tree shall teem for all
Then those we lost below
Once more we shall infold;
And there, with eyes undimm'd by wo,
The burning throne of God behold.
There the pure sun-bow glows,
Unaided by the shower;
No thorn attends the Elysian rose,
There roll the streams of love,
Beyond death's wintry power!
GOD SEEN IN ALL THINGS.
THOU art, O God, the life and light
Are but reflections caught from thee:
When day with farewell beam delays,
Among the opening clouds of even, And we can almost think we gaze
Through golden vistas into heaven,
When night, with wings of stormy gloom,
When youthful spring around us breathes,