Is there a God? Hark! from on high I hear his voice in every wind, I read a record of his love, His wisdom and his power, Inscribed in all created things— Man, beast, and herb and flower. The sultry sun has left the skies, Is there a God? With sacred fear, If such convictions to my mind That while I ponder on his deeds, And grace may make him mine. THE BIBLE. It is the one True Light, That, when all other lamps grow dim, Shall never burn less purely bright, Nor lead astray from HIM. It is Love's blessed band, That reaches from the eternal throne To him-whoe'er he be-whose hand Will seize it for his own! It is the Golden Key To treasures of celestial wealth, Joy to the sons of poverty, And to the sick man, health! The gently proffer'd aid Of one who knows us, and can best Supply the beings he has made With what will make them bless'd. It is the sweetest sound That infant years delight to hear, Travelling across that holy ground, With God and angels near. There rests the weary head, There age and sorrow love to go; And how it smooths the dying bed, O! let the Christian show! SONNET. THE GOD OF THE STORM AND THE WHIRLWIND. THOU thy stern robe of terrors hast put on, O mighty Ruler of the winds and waves! The greatness of thy presence. 'Tis the hour Fierce tempests! but to pass His fix'd decree, PEACE. SWEET Peace, where dost thou dwell?—I humbly crave Let me once know. I sought thee in a secret cave, And ask'd if Peace were there. A hollow sound did seem to answer, “No: I did, and, going, did a rainbow note. "Surely," thought I, "This is the lace of Peace's coat; I will search out the matter." But, while I look'd, the clouds immediately Then went I to a garden, and did spy The Crown Imperial. "Sure," said I, But, when I digg'd, I saw a worm devour At length, I met a reverend, good old man ; I did demand, he thus began :— "There was a prince of old In Salem dwelt, who lived with good increase Of flock and fold. "He sweetly lived; yet sweetness did not save His life from foes: But, after death, out of his grave There sprang twelve stalks of wheat, Which many, wondering at, got some of those, To plant and set. "It prosper'd strangely, and did soon disperse Through all the earth. For they that taste it do rehearse, That virtue lies therein; A secret virtue, bringing peace and mirth, "Take of this grain, which in my garden grows, And grows for you: Make bread of it; and that repose And peace which everywhere With so much earnestness you do pursue, Is only there." THE DEATH OF THE VIRTUOUS. SWEET is the scene when virtue dies! So fades a summer cloud away; So sinks the gale when storms are o'er; Triumphant smiles the victor brow, Farewell, conflicting joys and fears,' Where light and shade alternate dwell: How bright the unchanging morn appears! Farewell, inconstant world, farewell! Its duty done-as sinks the clay, Light from its load the spirit flies; While heaven and earth combine to say, "Sweet is the scene when virtue dies." |