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Thro' painful life, and pity'd with a tear,
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. 200
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 trod 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.

169 The shade of sorrow is the field of glory: Calamity breathes on the seeds of Virtue. 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,

130 Is every tribute from a mortal's lyre. 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.



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 and boisterous vender's song,

Strike on my startling ear no more.

Now gathering storms the sky o’erspread,

And sweep with ruffian-blasts the plain, Now on my window and my shed,

Descends the chill and beating rain.

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 Shakspeare 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.

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