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PRAISE TO GOD.

BEGIN, my soul, th' exalted lay,
Let each enraptur'd thought obey,

Ogilvy.

And praise th' Almighty's name.
Lo! heaven and earth, and seas and skies,
In one melodious concert rise,

To swell th' inspiring theme.

Ye angels, catch the joyful sound,
While all the adoring throngs around,
His wond'rous mercy sing.

Let every list'ning saint above
Wake all the tuneful soul of love,
And strike the sweetest string.

Thou heaven of heavens, his vast abode,
Ye clouds proclaim your former God;
Ye thunders speak his pow'r.
Lo! on the lightning's gleamy wing
In triumph rides the Eternal King,
The astonish'd worlds adore.

Ye deeps, with roaring billows rise,
To join the thunders of the skies,
Praise Him who bade you roll.
His praise in softer notes declare,
Each whispering breeze of yielding air,
And breathe it to the soul.

Wake all ye soaring throngs, and sing,
Ye cheerful warblers of the spring,

Harmonious anthems raise,

To Him who shap'd your finer mould,
Who tipp'd your glittering wings with gold,
And tun'd your voice to praise.

Let man, by nobler passions sway'd,
The feeling heart, the judging head,
In heavenly praise employ.
Spread the Creator's name around,

Till heaven's broad arch ring back the sound,
The general burst of joy.

GLORY OF THE CREATOR.

THOU art, O God! the life and light
Of all this wond'rous world we see ;
Its glow by day, its smile by night,

Are but reflections caught from thee.
Where'er we turn thy glories shine,
And all things fair and bright are thine.
When day, with farewell beam, delays
Among the opening clouds of even,
And we can almost think we gaze,

Through golden vistas, into heaven.
Those hues, that make the sun's decline
So soft, so radiant, Lord, are thine.

When night, with wings of starry gloom,
O'ershadows all the earth and skies ;

Moore.

Like some dark beauteous bird whose plume Is sparkling with unnumber'd eyes

That sacred gloom, those fires divine,
So grand, so countless, Lord, are thine.

When youthful spring around us breathes,
Thy spirit warms her fragrant sigh;
And every flower that summer wreathes,
Is born beneath that kindling eye.
Where'er we turn thy glories shine,
For all things fair and bright are thine.

HEAVEN.

THERE is an hour of peaceful rest
To mourning wanderers given,
There is a tear for souls distrest;
A balm for every wounded breast;
'Tis found above, in heaven.

There is a soft, a downy bed,
Fragrant as breath of even;
A couch for weary mortals spread,
Where they may rest the aching head,
And find repose-in heaven.

There is a home for weeping souls,
By sin and sorrow driven;

When toss'd on life's tempestuous shoals,
Where storms arise and ocean rolls,
And all is drear-but heaven.

There faith revives the tearful eye,
The heart with anguish riven;

Moore.

And views the tempest passing by,
The evening shadows quickly fly,
And all serene in heaven.

There fragrant flowers immortal bloom,
And joys supreme are given;
There rays divine disperse the gloom;
Beyond the confines of the tomb
Appears the dawn of heaven.

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A MOONLIGHT MEDITATION.

HERE plac'd beyond all human ken,

Far from the world's intrusive eye, Far from the haunts of toilsome men,

I stand, and view the blue-rob'd sky. Wide o'er the heavens' celestial glow, While moon and stars in glory shine, A raptur'd glance around I throw,

And own the Maker's hand divine! When I behold these orbs that roll,

Whose birth with times remote began; These lights that burn from pole to pole, And they but parts of one great plan! Warm from my soul the strain ascends, That hails the Lord of Nature's frame; My lowly heart before him bends, And transport kindles at his name. These works Omnipotence declare,

Aloud proclaim transcendant care.

Almighty, all pervading will!

Thy hand hath nothing made in vain Thy bounties e'en to me extend;

Thy gifts diffus'd like vernal rain, On all thy works alike descend.

Spirit supreme! in all things found, In radiant spheres, or earth's green sod; Author of all this wond'rous round, Creative, all-supporting God!

;

Almighty Maker! when I trace Thousands of worlds that round me lie, Harmonious, roll'd through boundless space, My heart exclaims, Lord, what am I! Compar'd with what my eyes can see, I seem a point, a dubious line;

And these, when I compare with thee, Appear in lessening shades like mine. Compar'd with time and endless space, An insect of a day I seem;

A grain of dust on Nature's face ;My present being, but a dream!

Unconscious when I first drew breath, Unknowing when my life will close,

Yet certain the cold hand of death

Will one day sink me to repose.
But yet I feel a soul within,
Some spring impelling this machine;

A power which must from thee begin, Which thinks, which wills, which acts unseen.

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