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When this world's gates are closest shut,
Walk out beneath the roseate skies,
Eye, ear, and heart awake;
List to the melodies that rise
From tree, from bush, and brake.
Each fluttering leaf, each murmuring spring The great I AM doth own;
TO HIM the soaring sky-larks sing
In music's sweetest tone.
Can'st thou not sing? O! leave thy cares And follies; go thy way!
And morning's praises, morning's prayers, Go with thee through the day!
Serve God before the world below;
Nor suffer, unimplored,
That blessing from thy path to go,
He only can afford.
This done, to HIM resign thy will,
Who never will forsake
Those who, like Jacob, wrestle still,
As day begins to break.
Weep for thy sins,-to Him apply
But know that self and pride must die
Mornings are emblems, shadowing forth, Unto the spirit's eye,
Man's resurrection, and the birth
Of hopes that cannot die.
The glorious star which speaks them near,
Like that of Bethlehem,
Is life and light !—its rise more dear
Than crown or diadem.
But when the morning's prime is past,
Keep well thy temper ;-mingle not With aught that thou shalt find, Which may its lingering brightness blot, Or chase it from thy mind.
Despatch whatever must be done;
Life hath a load to bear,
Which may be borne; a path to run,
Beset with many a care.
Keep such without; and let thy heart
Be still thy God's alone;
And He, thy spirit's better part,
THE LORD MY SHEPHERD.
GOD, who doth all nature hold
In his fold,
Is my Shepherd kind and heedful;
Me, his sheep,
Still supplied with all things needful.
He feeds me in fields, which been
Fresh and green,
Mottled with spring's flowery painting; Through which creep, with murmuring crooks, Crystal brooks,
To refresh my spirit fainting.
When my soul from heaven's way
With earth's vanities seduced,
For his name's sake kindly He,
THE bird that soars on highest wing
And she that doth most sweetly sing,
When Mary chose "the better part,"
She meekly sat at Jesus' feet;
And Lydia's gently-open'd heart
Was made for God's own temple meet;
-Fairest and best-adorn'd is she,
Whose clothing is humility.
The saint that wears heaven's brightest crown,
In deepest adoration bends;
The weight of glory bows him down,
Then most when most his soul ascends; -Nearest the throne itself must be
The footstool of humility.
of God, the mighty source
Of all things, that stupendous force,
On which all strength depends;
From whose bright arm, beneath whose eyes,
All period, power, and enterprise
Commences, reigns, and ends.
The world, the clustering spheres he made,
Dale, champaign, grove, and hill;
The multitudinous abyss,
Where secrecy remains in bliss;
And wisdom hides her skill.