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'Tis the spring of the soul, when on sin's dark night
A ray from above is descending,
With its beauty is silently blending;
What is stronger and brighter than summer's sun,
In his noontide effulgence shining ?
And his beams in the west are declining;
'Tis the Christian's zenith, the summer of him
Whose strength to his God is devoted ; Who, whether his pathway be bright or dim,
By mortals admired or unnoted; From strength to strength, and from grace to grace, Outshines the sun in his glorious race.
What is richer than harvest? what gladdens the heart
Beyond autumn with bounty o’erflowing ?
More ripe than the red vintage glowing:
'Tis the saint's ripe harvest; the gathering in
To the garner, of thanks and of glory;
His hopes now his locks are hoary,
What is stiller and fairer than winter's night,
When the full moon and stars are unclouded; When earth is bespangled with glory and light,
Though its life deep within it be shrouded; When all is so calm and so lovely around, That a whisper might startle the ear by its sound?
"Tis the parting hour of the saint, when his cheek
Is tinged with delightful emotion ;
The spirit's sublimest devotion;
WARNINGS TO REFLECTION.
GREAT God! how awful is the scene
And can I trifle life away?
Are shiver'd when they're torn away!
Vain joys, which envied greatness gains,
Which ask immortal strength to break?
How many deaths of one ye make!
Yet, dumb with wonder, I behold
Forget, or scorn, the laws of death;
Each thinks he draws iminortal breath!
Each, blind to fate's approaching hour,
And slumbering danger dares provoke :
And feels an unexpected stroke!
ERE the morning's busy ray
He to whom the pray'r is due,
To me remains nor place nor time; My country is in ev'ry clime; I can be calm and free from care On any shore since God is there. While place we seek or place we shun, The soul finds happiness in none; But with a God to guide our way, ”Tis equal joy to go or stay. Could I be cast where thou art not, That were indeed a dreadful lot; But regions none remote I call, Secure of finding God in all. My country, Lord, art thou alone; Nor other can I claim or own; The point where all my wishes meet; My law, my love, life's only sweet! I hold by nothing here below; Appoint my journey, and I go; Though pierc'd by scorn, oppress'd by pride, I feel thee good-feel nought beside. No frowns of men can hurtful prove To souls on fire with heav'nly love; Though men and devils both condemn, No gloomy days arise from them. Ah then! to his embrace repair; My soul, thou art no stranger there; There love divine shall be thy guard, And peace and safety thy reward
On Horeb's brow the Tishbite stands,
Distinctly in the desert drear,
• Elijah, say, what dost thou here?
If the great Judge should now appear,
Durst thus avow what they do here?