THE MORNING FLOWERS, The morning flowers display their sweets, gay their silken leaves unfold; And As careless of the noontide heats, Nipt by the wind's unkindly blast, The short-lived beauties die away. So blooms the human face divine, When youth its pride of beauty shows; Fairer than Spring the colours shine, And sweeter than the virgin rose Or worn by slowly rolling years, Or broke by sickness in a day, The fading glory disappears, And short-lived beauties die away. Yet these new rising from the tomb, Safe from diseases and decline. Let sickness blast, let death devour, If Heaven shall recompense our pains; Perish the grass, and fade the flower, If firm the Word of God remains. C. WESLEY. THE PRINCE OF SALEM. When Jordan hush'd his waters still, And silence slept on Zion's hill; When Bethel's shepherds through the night, Watch'd o'er their flocks by starry light. Hark! from the midnight hills around, A voice of more than mortal sound, Wild murmuring o'er the raptur'd soul. Then swift to every startled eye, New streams of glory light the sky; Heaven bursts her azure gates to shower, Effulgence on the midnight hour. On wheels of light, on wings of flame, High heav'n with songs of triumph rung, O Zion! lift thy longing eye, The long expected hour is nigh; The joys of nature rise again, The Prince of Salem comes to reign. See, mercy from her golden urn, Pours comfort's streams to those that mourn; Behold her bind, with tender care, The bleeding bosom of despair. He comes! to cheer the trembling heart, Bids Satan and his hosts depart; Again the Day-Star gilds the gloom; Again the bowers of Eden bloom! O Zion! lift thy longing eye, The long expected hour is nigh; The joys of nature rise again, The Prince of Salem comes to reign. HOPE. CAMPBELL. Hope, on her anchor leaning, stands secure, Such is the Christian's hope, but hopes there are And sink the soul that trusts them in dismay. |