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'Tis noiseless thus, yet swift as thought,
The stream of Time rolls by;
And thus, though man regards them not,
His precious moments fly.
A few brief days, in splendour bright,
Yon glorious orb has shone;
Add next a few returns of night,
And, lo, a year is gone!
Lord ! grant me grace these seasons fleet
To Thee alone to spend,
That I with joy thy face may meet,
When life's short course shall end :
And teach me on that Saviour's love
To build my only trust,
Who, though he fills a throne above,
Was once allied to dust.
Oh then, while days and years shall glide
In silent speed away,
My soul shall view the ebbing tide,
But know no sad dismay;
For still my Saviour-God shall be
At hand, though unperceiv’d,
And I Salvation nearer see
Than when I first believ'd.
KNELL of departed years,
Thy voice is sweet to me:
It wakes no sad foreboding fears,
Calls forth no sympathetic tears,
Time's restless course to see ;
From hallowed ground
I hear the sound,
Diffusing through the air a holy calm around.
Thou art the voice of love,
To chide each doubt away ;
And as thy murmur faintly dies,
Visions of past enjoyments rise
In long and bright array;
I hail the sign
That love divine Will o'er my future path in cloudless mercy shine.
Thou art the voice of hope;
The music of the spheres,
of blessings yet to come,
A herald from my future home,
My soul delighted hears :
By sin deceived,
By nature grieved, Still am I nearer rest than when I first believed.
Thou art the voice of life:
A sound which seems to say,
O prisoner in this gloomy vale,
Thy flesh shall faint, thy heart shall fail ;
Yet fairer scenes thy spirit hail
That cannot pass away:
Here, grief and pain
Thy steps detain; There, in the image of the Lord, shalt thou with
FAIR daffodills ! we weep to see
You haste away so soon ;
As yet the early rising sun
Hath not attained his noon:
Until the hastening day
But to the even-song;
And having prayed together, we
Will go with you along.
We have short time to stay, as you :
We have as short a spring,
As quick a growth to meet decay,
As you, or any thing;
As your hours do, and dry
Like to the summer rain;
Or as the pearls of morning dew,
Ne'er to be found again.
The bell strikes one. We take no note of time
But from its loss : to give it then a tongue
Is wise in man. As if an angel spoke,
I feel the solemn sound. If heard aright,
It is the knell of my departed hours.
Where are they? With the years beyond the flood.
It is the signal that demands despatch:
How much is to be done ? My hopes and fears
Start up alarmed, and o’er life's narrow verge
Look down-on what? A fathomless abyss,
A dread eternity, how surely mine!
And can eternity belong to me,
Poor pensioner on the bounties of an hour ?
How poor, how rich, how abject, how august,
How complicate, how wonderful is man!
How passing wonder He who made him such !
Who centre'd in our make such strange extremes,
From different natures marvellously mixed,
Connexion exquisite, of distant worlds !
Distinguish'd link in beings' endless chain !
Midway from nothing to the Deity!
A beam ethereal, sullied and absorpt !
Though sullied and dishonoured, still divine !
Dim miniature of greatness absolute !
An heir of glory! a frail child of dust!
Helpless immortal ! insect infinite !
A worm! a god !- I tremble at myself,
And in myself am lost. At home a stranger ;
Thought wanders up and down, surprised, aghast,
And wondering at her own. How reason reels !
O what a miracle to man is man !
Triumphantly distressed ! what joy! what dread!
Alternately transported and alarm’d!
What can preserve my life? or what destroy?
An angel's arm can't snatch me from the grave,
Legions of angels can't confine me there.
This shadow on the dial's face,
That steals from day to day,
With slow, unseen, unceasing pace,
Moments, and months, and years away;