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Why does the will of Heaven ordain
A world so mix'd with woe? Why pour down want, disease, and pain
On wretched men below?
It was the Will of God to leave
Those ills for man to mend; Nor let Affliction pass the grave,
Before it found a friend.
The human race to bind;
With pity for our kind.
On darkest cloud doth shine;
The human face-divine.
To bid her flock rejoice; 'Tis there, with Grace extends the hand,
There Music tunes the voice. And He, who speaks in Mercy's name,
No fiction needs, nor art; The still small voice of Nature's claim
Reechoes through each heart. Where Pity's frequent tear is shed,
There God is seen-is found; Descends upon the hallow'd head,
And sheds a glory round.
But Charity itself may fail,
Which doth not active prove, Nor will the prayer of Faith avail
Without the works of Love,
0, SWEETER than the fragrant flower
At Evening's dewy close,
To succour human woes!
And softer than the softest strain
Of Music to the ear,
By Gratitude sincere!
What hopes his heart expand;
A harvest from his hand.
Nor dissipates in vain :
What produce from each grain! The nobler husbandry of mind,
The culture of the heart,
Less genuine joy impart?
That dies not nor decays,
That blossoms now in praise.
The youthful hopes, that here expand
Their green and tender leaves,
In rich and yellow sheaves.
May perfect Heaven's high plan;
Is Charity to Man.
Adores his Maker best:
The bed of Death is bless'd.
I seem to hear the Angelic voice
Through glad creation's ample range
From ashes of this world, sublime,
HYMN. GLORIOUS Author
Teach us at thy shrine to bow!
Let our lips renew the vow.
From her infant nest of flowers,
Sparkling in the sunny showersWhen, as up the blue profound,
Summer climbs her noonday height, Not the breathing of a sound
Wanders through the depth of lightWhen, o'er harvest-waving hill,
And on gaily blossom'd heath, Autumn glows—or, beauteous still,
Wears the golden veil of deathWhen, like some unspotted corse,
Shrouded in its virgin white, Nature yields to Winter's force,
Only to revive more brightGlorious Author of the year,
Teach us at thy shrine to bow! As thy varying months appear, Let our lips renew the vow.
REV. F. HODGSON.
I safely pass'd the silent night;
And drink again the morning light.
Once more, with awe, rejoice to be ;
And springs, my gracious God, to thee.
My doubtful feet are doom'd to tread;
When dangers press around my head.
A deeper sleep my eyes oppress;
Thy goodness still shall deign to bless.
That deeper sleep shall leave my eyes ;
THE WORLD ILLUSIVE.
The world is all a fleeting show,
For man's illusion given;
There's nothing true but Heaven! * Composed in the night, about a month before the death of the author.