O thou, the nymph with placid eye!
O seldom found, yet ever nigh!
Receive my temperate vow :
Not all the storms that shake the pole
Can e'er disturb thy halcyon soul,
And smooth, unaltered brow.
O come, in simple vest arrayed,
With all thy sober cheer displayed,
To bless my longing sight;
Thy mien composed, thy even pace,
Thy meek regard, thy matron grace,
And chaste subdued delight.
No more by varying passions beat,
O gently guide my pilgrim feet
To find thy hermit cell;
Where in some pure and equal sky,
Beneath thy soft indulgent eye,
The modest virtues dwell.
Simplicity in Attic vest,
And Innocence with candid breast,
And clear, undaunted eye;
And Hope, who points to distant years,
Fair opening through this vale of tears,
A vista to the sky.
O say what soft, propitious hour
I best may choose to hail thy power,
And court thy gentle sway;
When Autumn, friendly to the Muse,
Shall thy own modest tints diffuse,
And shed thy milder day:
When Eve, her dewy star beneath,
Thy balmy spirit loves to breathe,
And every storm is laid;
If such an hour was e'er thy choice,
Oft let me hear thy soothing voice
Low whispering through the shade.
Dread offspring of the holy light within,
Offspring of Conscience and of Sin,
Stern as thine awful sire, and fraught with woe
From bitter springs thy mother taught to flow-
Remorse! To man alone 'tis given-
Of all on earth or all in heaven
To wretched man--thy bitter cup to drain, Feel thy awakening stings, and taste thy wholesome pain.
O when the glare of day is fled,
And, calm beneath the evening star,
Reflection leans her pensive head,
And calls the passions to her solemn bar;
Reviews the censure rash, the hasty word,
The purposed act too long deferred,
Of time the wasted treasures lent,
And fair occasions lost, and golden hours misspent.
When anxious Memory numbers o'er
Each offered prize we failed to seize;
Or friends laid low, whom now no more
Our fondest love can serve or please,
And thou, dread power! bring'st back, in terrors drest,
The irrevocable past, to sting the careless breast,
O! in that hour be mine to know,
While fast the silent sorrows flow,
And wisdom cherishes the wholesome pain,
No heavier guilt, no deeper stain
Than tears of meek contrition may atone,
Shed at the mercy-seat of heaven's eternal throne.
ADDRESS TO THE DEITY.
God of my life! and Author of my days!
Permit my feeble voice to lisp thy praise;
And trembling, take upon a mortal tongue
That hallowed name to harps of seraphs sung.
I feel that name my inmost thoughts control,
And breathe an awful stillness through my soul;
As by a charm, the waves of grief subside,
Impetuous Passion stops her headlong tide;
At thy felt presence all emotions cease,
And my hushed spirit feels a sudden peace,
Till every worldly thought within me dies,
And earth's gay pageants vanish from my eyes.
But soon, alas! this holy calm is broke;
My soul submits to wear her wonted yoke,
With shackled pinions strives to soar in vain,
And mingles with the dross of earth again.
But He, our gracious Master, kind as just,
Knowing our frame, remembers man is dust;
His spirit, ever brooding o'er our mind,
Sees the first wish to better hopes inclined;
Marks the young dawn of every virtuous aim,
And fans the smoking flax into a flame;
His ears are open to the softest cry,
His grace descends to meet the lifted eye;
He reads the language of a silent tear,
And sighs are incense from a heart sincere.
If the soft hand of winning Pleasure leads
By living waters, and through flowery meads,
When all is smiling tranquil, and serene,
And vernal beauty paints the flattering scene,
O teach me to elude each latent snare,
And whisper to my sliding heart "Beware!"
With caution let me hear the syren's voice,
And doubtful, with a trembling heart rejoice.
If friendless in a vale of tears I stray,
Where briars wound, and thorns perplex my way,
Still let my steady soul thy goodness see,
And with strong confidence lay hold on Thee.
With equal eye my various lot receive,
Resigned to die, or resolute to live;
Prepared to kiss the sceptre or the rod,
While God is seen in all, and all in God.
I read His awful name emblazoned high
With golden letters on the illumined sky;
Nor less the mystic characters I see
Wrought in each flower, inscribed in every tree;
In every leaf that trembles to the breeze,
I hear the voice of God among the trees;
With Thee in shady solitudes I walk,
With Thee in busy crowded cities talk,
In every creature own thy forming power,
In each event thy providence adore.
Thy hopes shall animate my drooping soul,
Thy precepts guide me, and thy fear control:
Thus shall I rest, unmoved by all alarms,
Secure within the temple of thine arms!
From anxious cares, from gloomy terrors free,
And feel myself omnipotent in Thee.
Then when the last, the closing hour draws nigh,
And earth recedes before my swimming eye;
When, trembling on the doubtful edge of fate
I stand, and stretch my view to either state;
Teach me to quit this transitory scene
With decent triumph and a look serene;
Teach me to fix my ardent hopes on high,
And, having lived to Thee, in Thee to die.
"Come unto me all ye that are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest."-Matt. xi. 28.
Come, said Jesus' sacred voice,
Come, and make my paths your choice;
I will guide you to your home;
Weary pilgrim, hither come!
Thou who, houseless, sole, forlorn,
Long hast borne the proud world's scorn,
Long hast roamed the barren waste,
Weary pilgrim, hither haste!
Ye who, tossed on beds of pain,
Seek for ease, but seek in vain ;
Ye whose swollen and sleepless eyes
Watch to see the morning rise ;—
Ye by fiercer anguish torn,
In strong remorse for guilt who mourn,
Here repose your heavy care-
A wounded spirit who can bear?
Hither come, for here is found
Balm that flows for every wound;
Peace that ever shall endure,
Rest eternal, sacred, sure.
Sleep, sleep to-day, tormenting cares
Of earth and folly born!
Ye shall not dim the light that streams
From this celestial morn.
To-morrow will be time enough
To feel your harsh control;
Ye shall not violate this day
The sabbath of my soul.
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