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And false the light on Glory's plume
As fading hues of even,
There's nothing bright but Heaven.
Poor wanderers of a stormy day,
From wave to wave we're driven; And fancy's flash and reason's ray Serve but to light the troubled way,
There's nothing calm but Heaven!
HYMN ON THE SPRING.
WHILE Nature, full of milder grace,
Expects the glad return of Spring, Already see the feather'd race
Chaunt jocund on exulting wing! The rising flowers, the budding trees,
Each airy songster's notes inspire,
To join the universal choir.
Rich fount of life, of sense, of joy!
For ever shall this tongue employ, When morn dispels the shades of night,
I trace thee through the livelong day; When eve succeeds retiring light,
Thy name still animates my lay.
While, taught by thy unerring skill,
Successive seasons intervene, Earth all obedient hears thy will,
And spreads the vegetable scene. Thy sun,
the herald of thy praise, Fills with new life the pregnant plains, Pours on each spot the vital rays;
Bids each be born; and born, sustains. The brood that crowds the watery space,
The rapid streams, and trickling rills, The insect troops, the reptile race,
The cattle on a thousand hills, All, all confess thy tender care,
And thine Almighty Power proclaim; Through earth and sea and trackless air
The voice of Nature is the same. The bright assembled worlds on high
Roll constant through the liquid space, With sparkling glories gild the sky,
Where thy great hand describes their race. The dew-bent clouds, for Thee, their Lord,
Distill the gentle kindly shower; Or, ready to fulfil thy word,
The fierce impetuous torrent pour. Restrain’d by thee, the fanning gales
The thick wood's waving surface sweep, Or, loosed, rush headlong through the vales,
And plough the hoarse-resounding deep. At thy command, in silent flakes
Congeal'd descends the fleecy snow; Vast ice incrusts the stagnate lakes;
And streams arrested cease to flow.
By thy Almighty Nod enlarged,
The awful thunder shakes the skies; And through the cleft expanse discharged,
Sudden the forked lightning flies. See this, thou madly stubborn mind,
Whom wilful errors lead astray; Whose eye to fair experience blind,
Amidst the circling blaze of day, Can see no Providence Divine,
The wise, the wondrous plan advance; No power supreme through Nature shine;
No world but this; no God but chance. · Put off the mean, the fatal pride
Which turns thy foot from truth's plain road, And own a God alone supplied
The very power to doubt a God. From Him, the exhaustless source of good,
Thy parts, thine active spirits flow; Through His kind aid is understood
All art can teach, all man can know. And art thou still perversely wrong?
Thy rash resolves can nothing move? Not all the amazing proofs that throng
Within, around thee, and above! Persist! but, know the day will come,
(Be sure 'twill come ;—perhaps ’tis near!) When thou, beneath conviction dumb,
Confused and conscious shalt appear; - When thou with shame, remorse, and tears,
Shalt open thine unwilling eyes; Shalt feel the truth thy folly sneers;
Shalt try the Power thy pride denies !
Exalted then to perfect bliss,
O'er worlds of joy the good shall rove; Who sought those happier worlds in this,
Through faith, integrity, and love. Transporting thought!— O God! thy grace,
As onward dazzled reason goes,
More glorious scenes of wonder shows!
To tune the faintly sounding shell;
Beath of the Rev. Thomas Spencer, of Liverpool,
WHO WAS DROWNED IN BATHING IN THE TIDE,
AUGUST 5, 1811.
Thy way is in the sea, and thy path in the great waters, and
thy footsteps are not known. Psalm 1xxvii. 19.
I WILL not sing a mortal's praise;
To whom my powers belong ;
The glory of my song.
In earth and ocean, sky and air,
Seen, felt, or understood,
The source and stream of good.
I worship not the sun at noon,
The wind, the flood, the flame;
Jehovah is his name.
Him through all nature I explore;
Around, beneath, above;
I most admire and love.
0, there was One-on earth awhile
That turns into a tear
As prompt to disappear.
Sweet in his undissembling mien