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Gentle spirit, fly, O fly,

And to my Miranda bear
On thy downy wings, a sigh ;
Softly whisper in her ear;
Say, Maria longs to meet,
Longs to see her friend again:
Joys of meeting must be sweet,
If to part be such a pain.

Fly, ye moments, haste the time,
When to yon bright world above,
We with joyful feet shall climb,

Clad with glory, fill'd with love; Then united, side by side,

Never, never more to part, Endless years shall not divide

My Miranda from my heart.

Thro' the golden streets we'll stray,.
View our Father's smiling face,
In the realms of heav'nly day,

Sing the wonders of his grace;
Sin and sorrow left behind,
Peace and joy shall sweetly flow
In our happy, happy minds,
Come, Miranda, let us go....





COME, my Miranda, come away,
The summer's o'er, no longer stay;
The mists arise, the rains descend;
Come, to the wishes of thy friend.
The radiant sun in feeble rays,
A short-liv'd splendor now displays:
From the bleak north, the winds arise,
And bluster through the gloomy skies:
The fallen leaves bestrew the ground;
No more the sweet, the cheerful sound
Of woodlark's soothing song I hear,
No more the flow'ry train appear,
But winter spreads his dreary sway;
Come, my Miranda, come away.

"Tis friendship calls, she waits for thee;
And longs her absent friend to see:
For thee the Muse has strung her lyre,
And glows with soft poetic fire,
(A sacred flame, that still shall rise,
For lo, 'twas kindled in the skies)
To meet Miranda with a song,
For joy to friendship must belong.

Tho' sad the dull declining year, Does in her wint'ry dress appear, May you enjoy a mental spring, And hear the heav'nly turtle sing: Bright may the sun of righteousness, Shine in his glorious beams of grace, Dispelling every cloud away, And fill your soul with gospel-day; While from on high, celestial dews, And gentle show'rs their aid diffuse, To make the fir and myrtle bloom, And all the vintage breathe perfume, That my Miranda may appear In robes of summer all the year. May rosy health with cheerful eye, Sent from the monarch of the sky, Attend to crown your future days, And all your happy life be praise: Praise to the God of boundless love, Who keeps for you a seat above; Whose gracious providential eye Shall still your ev'ry want supply. Till Jordan's swelling streams are past, And safely you arrive at last In the bright world of heav'nly day, Where, sin and sorrow flown away, I shall my dear Miranda meet; Then, at our kind Redeemer's feet, We'll cast our crowns, and love, and sing Salvation to our God and king;

And in his temple, on that shore,
Be pillars, to go out no more.





STILL is the hour, the lamp of day
In other skies his beams display;
The silver moon with sober light
And gentle influence crowns the night:
Hush'd be the passions of my soul,
There let no jarring tempests roll,
No gloomy clouds portentous low'r,
But all be placid, as this hour;
Calm as the wave where halcyons play,
When Sol unfolds his brightest ray.
Well may sweet peace delight to dwell
With souls redeem'd from death and hell.
Tho' winds may rise, and tempests blow,
And hell engage to work them woe;
Jesus Jehovah reigns on high,

He views them with a father's eye;
His hand supports and guides them thro',
In spite of all that hell can do.

He smiles, and all their sorrows cease;

He speaks the tempest into peace;


Peace, like a river, flows within,
From a sweet sense of pardon'd sin :
Releas'd from guilt, releas'd from fear,
They find their great deliverer near;
They bless his name, they sing his love,
And long to see his face above.
To you, my friend, I need not say,
This is the Saviour's gracious way,
By sweet experience taught, you know
His dealings with his saints below:
Thrice happy thou, indulg'd to sit
With Mary at the master's feet
Nor think my Muse presumes to bring
To thee instruction on her wing;
She would but gratulate thy bliss,
And lisp his praises whose she is :
But ah! she faints, unequal quite
To such a task: the sons of light,
Who bow before Jehovah's face,
Can best proclaim his matchless grace;
Yet I would fain attempt to sing

In humble lays, the heav'nly king,
And tune my tongue, and strike my lyre,
In echo to th' angelic choir.

Ye ling'ring hours, O speed away;
Time, mend thy pace, and bring the day,
When freed from flesh, and freed from sin,
I shall the heav'nly song begin ;

And tell the shining hosts above,
The wonders of redeeming love;
With them adore Immanuel's name,
And sing salvation to the lamb.


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