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Safe on thy banks again I stray

Can there be eyes that look on you, The trance of poesy is o'er,

Till tears of rapture make them dim, And I am here at dawn of day,

Yet, in such works, no Maker view,-Gazing on mountains as before ;

Nor lose the works in Him!
Where all the strange mutations wrought
Were magic feats of my own mind; By me, when I behold Him not,
For in that fairy land of thought,

Or love Him not when I behold,
Whate'er I seek, I find.

Be all, that e'er I knew, forgot ;

My pulse stand still, my heart grow cold Yet, O ye everlasting hills !

Transform'd to ice, 'twixt earth and sky, Temples of God, not made with hands, On yonder cliff my shape be seen, Whose word performs whate'er He wills, That all my ask, though none reply, Whose word, though ye shall perisb stands! What my offence bath been!

MORNING HYMN.

MILTON

These are tby glorious works, Parent of good !
Almighty! thine this universal frame,
Thas wondrons fair; thyself how wondrous then!
Unspeakable; who sit'st above these heavens,
To us invisible, or dimly seen
In these thy lowest works: yet these declare
Thy goodness beyond thought and power divine.
Speak ye, who best can tell, ye sons of light,
Angels, for ye behold him, and with songs
And choral symphonies, day without night,
Circle bis throne, rejoicing; ye in heaven,
On earth, join, all ye creatures, to extol
Him first, him last, bim midst, and without end.
Fairest of stars! last in the train of night,
If better thou belong not to the dawn,
Sure pledge of day, that crown'st the smiling morn
With thy bright circlet; praise him in the sphere
While day arises, that sweet hour of prime.
Thou, son of this great world both eye and soul,
Acknowledge him thy greater; sound his praise
In thy eternal course, both when thou climb'st
And when high noon hast gain'd, and when thou fallist :
Moon ! that now meet'at the orient sun, now fly'st;
And ye five other wandering fires ! that move
In mystic dance, not without song, resound
His praise who out of darkness call'd up light,
Air! and ye elements ! the eldest birth
Of nature-oh, let your deaseless change
Vary to our great Maker, still new praise,
Ye mists and exhalations that now rise
From bill or streaming lake, dusky or gray,

Till the sun paints your fleecy skirts with gold,
In honour to the world's great Author rise :
Whether to deck with clouds the uncolour'd sky,
Or wet the thirsty earth with falling showers,
Rising or falling, still advance 'his praise.
His praise, ye winds! that from four quarters blow,
Breathe soft or loud; and wave your tops, ye pines !
With every plant, in sign of worship wave.
Fountains, and ye, that warble as ye flow,
Melodions marmurs ! warbling, tune his praise !
Join voices, all ye living souls ! ye birds,

That, singing, ap to heaven's gate ascend,
· Bear on your wings and in your notes his praise.
Ye that in waters glide, and ye that walk
The earth, and stately tread or lowly creep!
Witness if I be silent morn or even,
To hill or valley, fountain or fresh sbade,
Made vocal by my song, and taught his praise.
Hail, universal Lord! be bounteous still
To give is only good: and if our minds
Have gather'd aught of error or of vice,
Disperse it, as now light dispels the dark.

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To call to count, or weigh his works anew,
Whose counsels' depth thou canst not understand,

Sith of things subject to thy daily vew
Thou doest not know the causes nor their courses dew,

For take thy ballaunce, if thou be so wise,
And weigh the wind that under heaven doth blow;
Or weigh the light that in the east doth rise,
Or weigh the thought that from man's mind doth flow :
But if the weight of these thou canst not show,
Weigh but one word which from thy lips doth fall;
For how canst thou those greater secrets know,

That doest not know the least things of them all?
Ill can he rule the great that cannot reach the small.

THE KINDNESS OF PROVIDENCE. The smallest mote, the tend'rest hair

All feel our Heav'nly Father's care.
HEBER.

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DEPENDENCE ON DIVINE PROVIDENCE.

THOMSON.

WHEN my breast labours with oppressive care,
And o'er my cheek descends the falling tear,
While all my warring passions are at strife,
Oh, let me listen to the words of life!
Raptures deep-felt his doctrines did impart,
And thus be raised from earth the drooping heart.

Think not, when all your scanty stores afford,
Is spread at once upon the sparing board ;
Think not, when worn the homely robe appears
While on the roof the howling tempest bears,
What further shall this feeble life sustain,
And what shall clothe these shivering limbs again.
Say, does not life its nourishment exceed ?
And the fair body its investing weed ?

Behold! and look away your low despair,
See the light tenants of the barren air:
To them, nor stores, nor granaries belong;
Nought but the woodland and the pleasing song:
Yet your kind, Heavenly Father bends his eye
On the least wing that fits along the sky,
To him they sing, when spring renews the plain,
To him they cry, in winter's pinching reign;
Nor is their music nor their plaint in vain :
He hears the gay, and the distressful call;
And with unsparing bounty fills them all.

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