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Half hid in verdant groves; how bright they glow
In Sol's departing rays: yon ancient pile,
Whose venerable tow'rs from age to age,
Sacred to heav'n, have brav'd the shocks of time ;
There heroes sleep; no more the clang of war
Disturbs their slumbers; may their dust repose
In peaceful silence, till the trump of God
Awake the world and bid it sleep no more!

Behold yon pensive trav❜ller silent stand,
Leaning like Jacob, on his oaken staff;
He bends beneath the weight of num'rous years,
And muses o'er a thousand by-past scenes,
Which faithful memory revives to view,
And ev'ry thought is follow'd by a sigh.
So, when our fainting spirits tire and lag,
As on we journey up the heavenly road,
May the firm promise of a faithful God
Support our steps; there may we safely lean
By steadfast faith, and rest our weary souls,
Look backward on the wonders of his hand,
Look forward to the crown beyond the veil,
And ev'ry rising thought be wing'd with joy,
O'erflowing gratitude, and humble love;
Till from the skies his winged messengers
Descend, to bear us to our Father God;
To walk the golden streets, to gather fruit
From life's immortal tree, and prove the bliss
That blossoms in the paradise of God;

A brighter paradise than Adam lost....
An Eden, purchas'd by a Saviour's blood.

There shall we sing his boundless name, and fall Before his throne in ecstacies divine;

No more to sin and part no more,

But in immortal triumphs to exult

With the bright sons of morn, as bright as they ; While everlasting ages roll along.




LET universal nature bring
An humble tribute to her king,
Jesus the God, who bade the earth
Exist, and gave creation birth.
High on his glorious throne he reigns;
And all the bright etherial plains.
Resound the triumphs of his name:
Lo! glad archangels shout his fame:
With harps of gold, the ransom'd throng
Exulting, swell the choral song;

Still higher let your notes arise,
Ye winged armies of the skies,
Adore him through eternal days,.
With growing ardor, boundless praise.

Praise him, bright Sol, refulgent king of day, When thy first rising beam dispels the night; When from thy flaming car, the noontide ray Pours on the universe a flood of light.

The moon and stars shall catch the glorious theme: Hear it, ye planets, as ye roll along

In boundless space; delighted, hear of him,
And join to praise him in a noble song.

Ye little warblers of the grove,
Ye his care and kindness prove;
As ye fly from spray to spray,
Join the universal lay.
Ye who rove the forest thro',
His kind hand provides for you;
'Tis by his Almighty power,
Lambkins bleat, and lions roar :
Earth, and seas, and air, unite,
Gloomy darkness, orient light,
Rosy summer, cheerful spring,
Sheave-crown'd autumn too shall sing;
Winter with his stormy face,
Shall adore the God of grace;
Every season, every thing,

Bless the great immortal king:

Low at the feet of Jesus they shall fall,
And own him God, and sovereign Lord of all.

Saints redeemed by his blood,
Sing your great redeeming God.
Come, Philander, join the lay,
Help his glories to display :
Let us raise our voices higher
Than the great angelic choir;
They adore their Maker-God.
But we bless him for his blood;
He is theirs, and he is ours;
Praise him with thy noblest powers.


In yonder heav'nly courts, those realms of light,
Where love, and joy, and peace forever reign,
The sons of morn, the great seraphic choirs,
Tune their soft harps and raise their loftiest notes,
To hymn the great I AM....Melodious anthems
Sound thro' the arches of th' etherial sky,
And all the theme is, holy, holy, holy
Lord God Omnipotent !....Before his throne
The white rob'd saints, the ransom'd of the Lord,
The trophies of his grace, enraptur'd bow,
And lowly reverent, before his footstool,
Adoring cast their amaranthine crowns,
And join th' angelic song, "To him (they cry)
Who lov'd us, bought us, wash'd us in his blood,
And made us kings, and holy priests to God;
To him be glory, honor, power and praise,
Eternally ascrib'd.".... And doth his praise
Employ alone the throng beatific?
Is earth indeed so far remov'd from heav'n,
That from her altars no bright flames can rise,
Of sacred love, and voices gratulant?

O no! he has a company below,

Of royal priests, who offer daily songs

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