Still be to me my only guide, And make a wretched sinner pause.
For oh, if aught our steps can guide, To peace below, or bliss above; Thou canst, and nothing else beside, For all thy precepts speak of love.
Yes, love to God and love to man, From truth's own lips sublimely giv'n; While Jesus, and salvation's plan, Bid sinners look from earth to Heaven. Oh! may that light which heaven can shed, Shine forth as o'er thy page I pore -
Illume my steps and dying bed, And lead me to the eternal shore.
One morning in the month of May I wander'd o'er the hill;
Tho' nature all around was gay,
My heart was heavy still.
Can God, I thought, the just, the great, These meaner creatures bless,
And yet deny to man's estate The boon of happiness?
Tell me, ye woods, ye smiling plains, Ye blessed birds around,
In which of nature's wide domains Can bliss for man be found!
The birds wild caroll'd over head, The breeze around me blew, And nature's awful chorus said- No bless for man she knew.
I question'd LOVE, hose early ray So rosy bright appears, And heard the timid genius say
His light was dimm'd by tears.
I question'd FRIENDSHIP: FRIENDSHIP sigh'd, And thus her answer gave- The few whom fortune never turn'd Were wither'd in the grave!
I ask'd if VICE could bless bestow? Vice boasted loud and well, But fading, from her wither'd brow The borrow'd roses fell.
I sought of FEELING, if her skili
Could soothe the wounded breast; And found her mourning, faint, and still, For others' woes distress'd!
I question'd VIRTUE: Virtue sigh'd, No boon could she dispense- Nor virtue was her name, she cried, But humble penitence.
I question'd DEATH-the grisly shade Relax'd his brow severe-
And "I AM HAPPINESS," he said, "If virtue guides thee here."
WHEN rising from the bed of death, O'erwhelm'd with guilt and fear,
I see my Maker face to face, O! how shall I appear?
If yet, while pardon may be found, And mercy may be sought, My heart with inward horror shrinks And trembles at the thought
When thou, O Lord, shalt stand disclos'd
In majesty severe,
And sit in judgment on my soul, O! how shall I appear?
But thou hast told the troubled soul, Who does her sins lament, The timely tribute of her tears Shall endless woe prevent.
Then see the sorrows of my heart, Ere yet it be too late : And hear my Saviour's dying groans,
To give those sorrows weight.
For never shall my soul despair Her pardon to procure, Who knows thy only Son has died To make that pardon sure.
THE cold wind strips the yellow leaf, The stars are twinkling faintly o'er us; All nature wears her garb of grief, While day's fair book is clos'd before us. The songs have ceased, and busy men Are to their beds of silence creeping; The pale, cold moon looks out again On the tir'd world so softly sleeping. O! in an hour so still as this,
From care, and toil, and tumult stealing,
I'll consecrate an hour to bliss
To meek devotion's holy feeling; And rise to Thee-to Thee, whose hand Unroll'd the golden Lamp of heaven; Mantled with beauty all the land; Gave light to morn, and shade to even. Being, whose all-pervading might
The laws of countless worlds disposes; Yet gives the sparkling dews their light- Their beauty to the blushing roses:
Thou, Ruler of our destiny!
With million gifts hast Thou supplied us, Hidd'n from our view futurity, Unveiling all the past to guide us.
Tho' dark may be earth's vale, and damp, A thousand stars shine sweetly o'er us, And immortality's pure lamp Gladdens and gilds our path before us.
THE SPRING FLOWER.
A LOVELY flower, at morning hour, Bloom'd sweetly on its parent stem; But ere the day had died away,
I saw no more the beauteous gem: Yet it had promis'd fair to view, For 'midst the storms its branches grew; It was the earliest flower of spring, The first of all its blossoming. But now untimely nipt it lies,
Its every promise lost for ever; And all the dewdrops from the skies May fall-but can revive it never.
Thus have I seen a flower as fair;
A doating parent's only joy, Bud forth, when storms were beating there, And wither in a milder sky. She withered, but unlike the flower,
Which hears no more the voice of spring, And never decks again the bower,
Which saw its early blossoming. For when on earth, she fades and dies, She blooms afresh in paradise: A bud transplanted from our soil, To live, beside those living streams, Which ever, and forever smile
Beneath those uncreated beams- Whose blessed light, and ceaseless ray, Make Heaven's eternal summers day.
VENI CREATOR SPIRITUS, PARAPHRASED.
CREATOR Spirit, by whose aid The world's foundations first were laid, Come visit every pious mind; Come pour thy joys on human kind. From sin and sorrow set us free, And make thy temples worthy thee.
O source of uncreated light, The Father's promis'd Paraclete! Thrice holy fount, thrice holy fire, Our hearts with heavenly love inspire: Come, and thy sacred unction bring To sanctify us, while we sing.
Plenteous of grace, descend from high, Rich in thy sevenfold energy!
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