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Of thirst, because there was no more to drink.
His goddess, Nature, wooed, embraced, enjoyed,
Fell from his arms, abhorred his passions died;
Died all but dreary, solitary pride;

And all his sympathies in being died.
As some ill-guided bark, well built and tall,
Which angry tide cast out on desert shore,
And then retiring, left it there to rot

And moulder in the winds and rains of heaven:
So he cut from the sympathies of life,

Poor man!

And cast ashore from pleasure's boisterous surge—
A wandering, weary, worn, and wretched thing;
Scorched, and desolate, and blasted soul;
A gloomy wilderness of dying thought-
Repined, and groaned, and withered from the earth.
His groaning filled the land, his numbers filled;
And yet he seemed ashamed to groan.
Ashamed to ask, and yet he needed help.
Proof this, beyond all lingering of doubt,
That not with natural or mental wealth,
Was God delighted, or his peace secured;
That not in natural or mental wealth,
Was human happiness or grandeur found.
Attempt how monstrous ! and how surely vain!
With things of earthly sort, with aught but God,
With aught but moral excellence, truth and love,

To satisfy and fill the immortal soul !
Attempt, vain inconceivably! Attempt,
To satisfy the ocean with a drop;
To marry immortality to death;
And with the unsubstantial shade of time,
To fill the embrace of all eternity!


The sun parts faintly from the wave,
The moon and stars are beaming;
The corpse is covered in the grave,

And infants now are dreaming;
But time conveys with rapid power;
Alike the sweetest, saddest hour!


The rain has showered, the bud has burst,
The wind o'er ocean bellowed,
Nature the birth of evening nurst,

And thought my feelings mellowed;
O sacred truth! from heaven descend,
Thou art my guardian and my friend!

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I'll tune my barp-I'll strike its wires,
My Saviour's praise to waken;
His love refines my warmest fires,
And keeps my heart unshaken;
And thus melodious chords arise,
And tone my feeling to the skies.

Though living in the strength of health,
Earth's noblest choice possessing,

In neither poverty nor wealth,
Esteeming every blessing:

I know not but the voice of time
May call me soon to heaven sublime!

But if uncalled, yet sure at last,

Even though with locks grown hoary, That sound will come, and when 'tis past, I shall awake in glory!

O dear Redeemer! give me grace

To fit me for that happy place!

Thou, when the vault shall claim my dust,

And God recall my spirit,

Eternal love will be my trust,
Insured by Jesus' merit;
And the triumphant change restore
My happiness for evermore!



Thou art gone to the grave! but we will not deplore thee, Though sorrows and darkness encompass the tomb ; The Saviour has passed through its portals before thee, And the lamp of his love is thy guide to the tomb.

Thou art gone to the grave! we no longer behold thee, Nor tread the rough paths of the world by thy side, But the wide arms of mercy are spread to unfold thee, And sinners may hope since the sinless hath died.

Thou art gone to the grave! and its mansion forsaking,
Perchance thy weak spirit in doubt lingered long;
But the sunshine of heaven beamed bright on thy waking,
And the sound which thou heard'st was the seraphim's

Thou art gone to the grave! but 'twere vain to deplore thee,
When God was thy ransom, thy guardian, and guide;
gave thee, he took thee, and he will restore thee,
And death hath no sting since the Saviour hath died.




Though the heart that sorrow chideth,
Sink in anguish and in care;

Yet, if patience still abideth,
Hope shall paint her rainbow there.

Hope's bright lamp her light shall borrow
From religion's blessed ray,
And from many a coming morrow,
Charm the clouds of grief away.

Wherefore should we sigh and languish,

Since our cares so soon shall cease?
And the heart that sows in anguish,
Shall hereafter reap in

This is not a scene of pleasure,

These are not the shores of bliss:

We shall gain a brighter treasure,
Find a dearer land than this.


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