The Sacred Lyre, Comprising Poems, Devotional, Moral and Preceptive ...

Those hues that marks the sun's decline,
So soft, so radiant, Lord, are thine.
When night, with wings of stormy gloom,

O'ershadows all the earth and skies
Like some dark beauteous bird, whose plume

Is sparkling with a thousand eyes,
That sacred gloom, those fires divine,
So grand, so countless, Lord, are thine.
When youthful spring around us breathes,

Thy Spirit warms ber fragrant sigh,
And every how'r the summer wreathes,

Is born beneath that kindling eye; Where'er we turn, thy glories shine, And all things fair and bright are thine.

MOORE

A SUMMER EVENING.
How fine has the day been, how bright was the sun,
How lovely and joyful the course that he run,
Though he rose in a mist when his race he begun

And there followed some droppings of rain!
But now the fair Traveller's come to the west,
His rays all are gold, and his beauties are best;
He paints the sky gay as he sinks to his rest,

And foretells a bright rising again.
Just such is the christian : his course he begins
Like the sun in a mist, when he mourns for his sids
And melts into tears; then he breaks out and shines

And travels bis heavenly way.
But, when he comes Dearer to finish his race,
Like a fine setting sun, be looks richer in grace,
And gives a sure hope at the end of his days

Of rising in brighter array!

WATTS.

Those hues that marks the sun's declife. So soft, so radiant, Lord, are thine. When night, with wings of stormy glac

O'ershadows all the earth and skies
Like some dark beauteous bird, whese pleo

Is sparkling with a thousand eyes,
That sacred gloom, those fires divine,

So grand, so countless, Lord, are thine.
When youthful spring around us breathes

Thy Spirit warms her fragrant sigh,
And every How'r the summer wreathes,

Is born beneath that kindling ese;
Where'er we turn, the glories shine,
And all things fair and bright are thine.

OF MAN'S MORTALITY. Like as the damask rose you see, Or like the blossom on the tree, Or like the dainty flower of May, Or like the morning to the day, Or like the sun, or like the shade, Or like the gourd which Jonas had, E'en such as man ;--whose thread is spun, Drawn out, and cut, and so is done. The rose withers, the blossom blasteth, The flower fades, the morning hasteth, The sun sets, the shadow flies, The gourd consumes, and map he dies ! Like to the grass that's newly sprung, Or like a tale that's new begun, Or like the bird that's here to-day, Or like the pearled dew of May, Or like an hour, or like a span, Or like the singing of a swan, E'en such is man;--who lives by breath, Is here, now there, in life and death. The grass withers, the tale is ended, The bird is flown, the dew's ascended, The hour is short, the span not long, The swan's near death,-man's life is done!

A SUMMER EVENING.
How fine has the day been, how bright was the se
How lovely and joyful the course that he run
Though he rose in a mist when his rave he best

And there followed some droppings of rain!
But now the fair Traveller's come to the wall
His

rays all are gold, and his beauties are bext;
He paints the sky gay as he sinks to his rest,

And foretells a bright rising again.
Just such is the christian : his course be bezis
Like the sun in a mist, when he mourns for his sia
And melts into tears; then he breaks out and shites

WASTELL

A HYME TO CONTENTMENT. Lovely, lasting, peace of mind! Sweet delight of human kind ! Heav'nly born, and brad on

And travels his heavenly way. But, when he comes nearer to finish his race, Like a fine setting sun, he looks richer in grace, And gives a sure hope at the end of his days Of rising in brighter array!

WATTS

high, To crown the fav'rites of the sky With more of bappiness below Than victors in a triumph kn

Whither, O whither, art thou fled,
To lay thy meck contented head!
What happy region dost thou please
To inake the seat of calms and ease ?

Ambition searches all its sphere
Of pomp and state, to meet thee there.
Increasing avarice would find
Thy presence in its gold enshrin'd.
The bold advent'rer ploughs his way
Tbro' rocks amidst the foaming sea,
To gain thy love! and then perceives
Thou wert not in the rocks and waves.
The silent heart which grief assails,
Treads soft and lonesome o'er the vales,
Sees daises open, rivers run,
And seeks (as I have vainly done)
Amusing thought; but learns to know
That solitude's the nurse of woe.
No real happiness is found
In trailing purple o'er the ground;
Or in a soul exalted high,
To range the circuit of the sky;
Converse with stars above, and know
All nature in its forms below;
The rest it seeks, in seeking dies
And doubts at last for knowledge rise.

Lovely, lasting peace, appear!
This world itself, if thou art here,
Is once again with Eden bless'd,
And man contains it in his breast.

'Twas thus, as under shade I stood,
I sung my wishes to the wood,
And, lost in thought, no more perceiv'd
The branches whisper as they wav'd.

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Oh! by yonder mossy seat,
In my hours of sweet retreat ;
Might I thus my soul employ,
With sense of gratitude and joy ;
Rais'd, as ancient prophets were,
In heavenly visiou, praise and pray'r;
Pleasing all men, hurting none,
Pleas'd and bless'd with God alone;
Then, while the gardens take my sight,
With all the colours of delight;
While silver waters glide along,
To please my ear, and court my song ;
I'll lift my voice, and tune my string,
And Thee, great Source of nature, sing,

The sun that walks his airy way,
To light the world and give the day;
The moon that shines with borrow'd light;
The stars that gild the gloomy night;
The seas that roll unnumber'd waves;
The wood that spreads its shady leaves;
The field whose ears conceal the grain,
The yellow treasure of the plain;
All of these, and all I see,
Should be sung, and sung by me:
They speak their Maker as they can,
But want and ask the tongue of Man.

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God the ererlasting light of his People*. Ye golden lamps of heav'n, farewell!

With all your feeble light : Farewell, thou ever-changing moon,

Pale empress of the night.
And thou, refulgent orb of day!

In brighter fames array'd,
My soul, which springs beyond thy sphere,

No more demands thine aid.
Ye stars, are but the shining dust

Of my divine abode,
The pavement of those heav'nly courts,

Where I shall reign with God.
The Father of eternal light

Shall there his beams display,
Nor shall one moment's darkness mix

With that un varied day.
No more the drops of piercing grief

Shall swell into mine eyes ;
Nor the meridian sun decline

Amidst those brighter skies.

*"The sun shall no more go down, neither shall the moon withdraw itself; for the LORD shall be thine everlasting light, and the days of thy mourning shall be ended." Isaiah, ix. 20.

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