A MIDNIGHT HYMN. 170 No curse or threatening pass his placid lips; [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: And let the King of Glory enter in ! 1 190 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 Is seal'd in night. And clos'd the listening ear 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 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, Thou God of Nature, and thou God of Love Is every tribute from a mortal's lyre. 130 Those spheres which move in harmony above, AN ADDRESS TO MY TAPER. MY Taper lend thy glimmering ray, And c'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, 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, O then, on this enchanting page, O let me catch that matchless song, |