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 sacited 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 flow'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.

Ens

There The i

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 sins
And melts into tears; then he breaks out and shines

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

WATTS

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

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

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

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

,
Is born beneath that kindling efe;
Where'er we turn, ths 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 fies,
The gourd consumes, -and man 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;-wbo 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!

WASTELL

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

And there followed some droppings of rain.
But now the fair Traveller's come to the west
His rays all are gold, and his heauties 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 mourus for his sisa
And melts into tears; then he breaks out and shiten

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 dars

Af rising in brighter array!

A HYME TO CONTENTMENT.
Lovely, lasting, peace of mind!
Sweet delight of human kind!
Heav'nly born, and brad on high,
To crown the far rites of the sky
With more of bappiness below
Than victors in a triumph know;

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
Thro' 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 lave 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.

It seem'd as all the quiet place
Confess'd the presence of the grace,
When thus she spoke--Go, rule thy will,
Bid thy wild passions all be still;
Know God and bring thy heart to know
The joys which from religion flow:
Then every grace shall prove its guest,
And I'll be there to crown the rest.

ore.

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 vision, praise and pray'r;
Pleasing all men, hurting none,
Pleasd 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.