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Retire, and, in thy presence, reassure
My feeble virtue. Here its enemies,
The passions, at thy plainer footsteps shrink,
And tremble, and are still. O God! when Thou
Dost scare the world with tempests, set on fire
The heavens with falling thunderbolts, or fill
With all the waters of the firmament
The swift, dark whirlwind, that uproots the woods, And drowns the villages; when, at Thy call, Uprises the great Deep, and throws himself Upon the continent, and overwhelms
Its cities; who forgets not, at the sight
Of these tremendous tokens of Thy power,
His pride, and lays his strifes and follies by?
Oh, from these sterner aspects of Thy face,
Spare me and mine: nor let us need the wrath
Of the mad, unchained elements to teach
Who rules them. Be it ours to meditate,
In these calm shades, Thy milder majesty,
And, to the beautiful order of Thy works,
Learn to conform the order of our lives.
BY MARY HOWITT.
'Tis night! Oh now come forth to gaze
Upon the heavens, intense and bright!
Look on yon myriad worlds, and say,
Though beauty dwelleth with the day
Is not God manifest by night?
Thou that created'st all! Thou fountain
Of our sun's light-who dwellest far
From man, beyond the farthest star,
Yet, ever present; who dost heed
Our spirits in their human need,
We bless Thee, Father, that we are!
We bless Thee for our inward life;
For its immortal date decreeing;
For that which comprehendeth Thee,
A spark of Thy divinity,
Which is the being of our being!
We bless Thee for this bounteous earth;
For its increase-for corn and wine;
For forest-oaks, for mountain rills,
For "cattle on a thousand hills;"
We bless Thee-for all good is Thine!
The earth is Thine, and it Thou keepest,
That man may labour not in vain;
Thou giv'st the grass, the grain, the tree,
Seed-time and harvest come from Thee,
The early and the latter rain!
The earth is Thine-the summer earth;
Fresh with the dews, with sunshine bright;
With golden clouds in evening hours,
With singing birds and balmy flowers,
Creatures of beauty and delight.
The earth is thine-the teeming earth;
In the rich bounteous time of seed,
When man goes forth in joy to reap,
And gathers up his garnered heap,
Against the time of storm and need.
The earth is thine-when days are dim,
And leafless stands the stately tree;
When from the north the fierce winds blow,
When falleth fast the mantling snow ;-
The earth pertaineth still to thee!
The earth is thine-thy creature, man!
Thine are all worlds, all suns that shine. Darkness and light, and life and death; Whate'er all space inhabiteth
Creator! Father! all are thine!