It wipes the tears of grief away,
And gives the weary rest.

It bids the trembling miser part
From his ill-gotten store;

It terrifies the stoutest heart,
That never shook before.

It quite unnerves the warrior's arm,
It makes the haughty bow;
And rudely withers ev'ry charm
On beauty's heav'nly brow.

Its voice unbars the prison-door,
And sets the captive free;
The slave endures the lash no more,
But springs to liberty.

It conquers woe, disease, and pain,
All private, publick strife;
And snaps at once the heavy chain
That binds us fast to life.

And from a sorrowing world like this,

And fortune's with'ring frown,

It leads to everlasting bliss,

To conquest and a crown.

Then cease to mourn life's little span,
And hush that impious cry;

For what an abject thing were man,
If he were ne'er to die.

WRITTEN FOR A DYING FRIEND.

EAT the bread, and drink the wine,
Symbols pure of love divine;

Is thy soul with fears distress'd?
These shall charm them all to rest.

Come, all sinful as thou art,
Bring a broken, contrite heart;
Faith in Christ thy hope, thy stay,
Then thy stains are wash'd away.

Lord! while low in pray'r we bend,
Let thy righteousness descend;
Holy confidence inspire,

And touch the soul with living fire.

HYMN.

BE Jehovah's name ador'd,
For abundant mercies giv'n;
Sing we praises to the Lord,
Glory to the King of Heav'n!

From his sapphire throne on high,
He hath heard a father's pray'r;

He hath heard a mother's cry,

And hath stretch'd his arm to spare!

Winter, stern, relentless pow'r,

Promis'd thee an early tomb; Spring restores with sun and show'r, Thine, and nature's tender bloom:

From thy fragile form hath driv'n
Slow-consuming, wan disease;

And hath sent, with wings from heav'n,
Health upon the morning breeze!

Mark the weak and palsied limb

By degrees its strength resume;

And those eyes, so sickly dim,

Quick their wonted fires illume:

See those cheeks, with hope elate, Own the sun's reviving rays! Hark! that voice,-so silent late,Joins the grateful song of praise.

For thy Father's saving grace,
Humble, grateful homage pay,

In his holy dwelling place,

Hour by hour, and day by day.

"Tis a glimpse of transports higher Thou in happier realms shalt know; Less than this can He require?

Less than this canst thou bestow?

Be Jehovah's name ador'd

For abundant mercies giv'n; Sing we praises to the Lord, Glory to the King of Heav'n!

MORNING.

HAD I a harp by angels strung,
A seraph's voice, a prophet's tongue,
My soul, to heav'n's high King,
Now, while from ev'ry dewy thorn
The merry birds salute the morn,
Should hallelujahs sing.

But though no saint or seraph's fire
Hath touch'd my lip, or tun'd my lyre,

To animate my lays ;

Do thou from thine ethereal sphere,

In tender mercy deign to hear,

And pardon while I praise.

"Is there a God?" the sceptic cries— Who form'd the earth, who built the skies? By whose command divine

Do yonder circling planets run,

And that celestial orb, the sun,

In all its glory shine?