Page images
PDF
EPUB

A MIDNIGHT HYMN.

170

No curse or threatening pass his placid lips;
He prays for blessings on the murderer's head.
Father have mercy! on my thoughtless foes,
Have mercy God! they know not what they do.
'Tis finish'd---cries the Saviour, while he dies,
And yields his spirit to his Father's hands.
Nature beheld the awful scene with dread.
The source of Being dying on the cross,
Surpass'd conception of Almighty love.
The sun grew dim, dark shadows quench'd his
And Night's thick mantle fell upon the world;
An earthquake shook the globe; the rocks are cleft,
The temple's veil is rent in twain; the dead 180
Awake, arise and leave their darksome graves.

[beam,

The mighty work of Christ is now perform❜d. A world is ransom'd from the depths of woe. Justice has sheath'd the dreadful sword of wrath; And God is reconcil'd with sinful man.

The weary traveller now rests in peace;

The Saviour rests lock'd in the arms of Death:
His pulse has ceas'd to beat: the clotted gore
Hangs thick and cold upon his face and breast.
Lift up your heads ye everlasting doors,

And let the King of Glory enter in !

190

The Saviour rests; the tomb receives his prey With chilling arms. The voice of mockery,

A MIDNIGHT HYMN.

The taunt of malice, and the shout of triumph Strike on his ear no more. That eye which look'd Thro' painful life, and pity'd with a tear,

200

Is seal'd in night. And clos'd the listening ear
Which never heard affliction plead in vain.
Those arms lie lifeless, which so often rais'd
Implor'd for mercy on a wretched world.
The Saviour sleeps-the traveller rests in peace.
'Twas love divine that drew him down from heaven.
'Twas love divine that bade our Saviour die,
Love for a world, a lost rebellious world;
Who met his gracious embassy with scorn.

Long had he journey'd on a rugged road,
And knew not where to rest his weary head:
Rage and derision hung upon his footsteps.
His friends were few-his joys were fewer still;
His face was care, without one mingled smile. 210
The object of his mission was to suffer,

And Sorrow wrapt him in her deepest night.
He trode in wretchedness this scene of life;
For man, for whom he suffered, was to bear
His heavy load of guilt-and die the death;
And Jesus meant his life a great example
To all who live, in all that's great and good.
The shade of sorrow is the field of glory:
Calamity breathes on the seeds of Virtue.

A MIDNIGHT HYMN.

He who has never known the woe-worn thought,
Who always glides o'er the unruffled stream,
Could never stem the ocean, lash'd by winds,
Or brave his rolling billows after storms.

Thou God of Nature, and thou God of Love
Who form'd this world, who bade those planets roll,
Who call'd all Being from the womb of Night,
Accept my song, and tune my heart to praise;
O breathe thy Spirit in the souls of men,
And send thy Gospel to the darkened world.
How far beneath thy majesty divine,

Is every tribute from a mortal's lyre.

130

Those spheres which move in harmony above,
Whose silver lustre slumbers on the earth,
Shall give thee nobler strains. The Seraph's harp
Shall raise the song of Glory to the Lamb
And universal Nature sound thy praise.

AN

ADDRESS

TO MY TAPER.

MY Taper lend thy glimmering ray,
O give me all thy little light!
Departed is the orb of Day,

And o'er the city falls the night,

The bustle of the passing throng,

The chariot rattling by the door,

The loud boisterous vender's song,

Strike on my startling ear no more.

Now gathering storms thy sky o'erspread, And sweep with ruffian-blasts the plain,

Now on my window and my shed,

Descends the chill and beating rain.

ADDRESS TO MY TAPER.

Protected from the angry sky,
Bless'd with the smile of kind repose,
Still may I know Compassion's sigh,
And keenly feel for others woes.

On such a night old legends tell, (While lowering clouds the sky o'ercast,) Aerial beings pour their yell,

And spread their pinions to the blast.

On such a night did Shakespeare hear,
His Ariel singing his wild strains,
On such a night his listening ear,
Heard spirits chaunting on the plains.

O then, on this enchanting page,
My taper, throw thy friendly beam-
And let me mark the long-past age,
And rove along Ilyssu's stream.

O let me catch that matchless song,
Which comes from old Achaia's lyre,
And wafted to the Olympic throng,
Bask in the blaze of Pindar's fire.

« PreviousContinue »