PITY. Pity, with softening look, Bends o'er affliction's prey, Assays to soothe the pang of grief And to the sufferer's relief A timely balm convey. In weeds of sable dye, Grief, gloomily array'd, Would pensive sit to mourn and weep, Whilst chilling Doubt would aid to keep A host of fears self-made; But Hope, with wooing smiles, Bids the dark visitors depart, And kindly cheers the drooping heart, The stars may fade away; The sun forget to shine; The moon, fair empress of the night, Yet firm Jehovah's word For ever shall endure ; In sickness he will not forsake; His bounteous favours all partake; His promises are sure. Bridlington. The stars shall fade away, the sun itself Grow dim with age, and nature sink in years." C. TO HOPE. TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF MATTHESIUS, As shines the beauteous morning star While clouds of night dissolve away, With golden rays proclaiming far So thou, when storms of life arise, Art still the wand'rer's guide and light And fondly paint'st him clearer skies, With valleys green, and prospects bright;: Nor leav'st him then, but opening wide A fairer scene upon his view, Pourtray'st his home, where saints reside And friends no more bid friends adieu. GREY. ន · PSALM CXIV. When from Egypta's hated plains When Jacob's race, a chosen band, The witness of their shame; The God of hosts at Juda's altar stayed, The Ocean saw, and backward roll'd Its ever-varying surge; The sacred stream of Jordan stood Awe-struck, until its refluent flood Forsook its flowery verge; The mountains leap'd, as leaps the horned ram, The "little hills" skipp'd like the timorous lamb. Why fledd'st thou Ocean? Jordan, why Ye mountains, crested by the cloud, Ye humbler hills which thickly crowd The earth, why did you shake? Why did you, like the shepherd's bleating care Bound to and fro,-no danger hovering there? Earth! didst thou tremble? tremble now, And tremble to thy core! For Jacob's God, with grandeur crown'd, Thy temples fills with awe profound. Sons of the earth, adore The God whose breath dissolves the stony mount, And from the flint prepares the streamlet's fount! Bridlington. T. |