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Where science leads thee to explore

In every star a sun.

Thus, when some long-loved comfort ends,

And nature would despair,
Faith to the heaven of heavens ascends,

And meets ten thousand there;
First faint and small, then clear and bright,

They gladden all the gloom,
As stars that seem but points of light

The rank of suns assume.



BLEAK was the winter Sabbath morn,

And dreary was the sky,
When the persecuted left their caves,

To worship the Most High.
An unfrequented mountain-gorge

Received the trembling flock ;
Their canopy was mist and clouds-
Their altar was the rock.

The eagle o'er their sanctuary

Majestically soar'd,
And scream'd discordant, while the crowd

Most rev'rently adored.
The chilling wind moan'd fitfully

Through groves of stunted pine ;
And the torrents rush'd and thunder'd

Through the desolate ravine.
And from that lonely rugged spot

Ascended, rich and rare,
The incense of the contrite heart-

The sacrifice of prayer.
And angels from the heights of heaven

Did look complacent down
On the honour'd heads that soon should wear

The martyr's glorious crown.
And grey-hair'd sires forgot their griefs,

And all their wrongs forgave,
When they heard of Him whose power burst

The barriers of the grave.
And widows, poor and desolate,

And homeless orphans, pray'd
For pardon from the throne on high

On their oppressor's head.
And matrons, haggard, pale, and wan,

With babes upon the breast,

Expell’d from husband, hearth, and home,

Gaunt, destitute, oppress’d,
Exulted in their sufferings,

Nay, smiled at torture—death,
And gazed on the Sun of Righteousness

With the eagle eye of Faith!

And woe-worn groups, in manhood's prime,

By tyranny harass’d,
Whose tatter'd garments, matted hair,

Stream'd on the wintry blast,
Attuned their voices solemnly

To a high and holy theme ;
And the strains of Zion blended with

The roaring of the stream.

The ruthless conqueror may climb

The slippery steep of fame;
And venal pens, corroding brass,

Immortalize his name.
Unfading wreaths, celestial palms,

And crowns are their reward,
Who brave the tyrant, when the sword

Of persecution's bared.



Thou art the Husbandman, and I
A worthless plot of husbandry,
Whom special love did, ne'ertheless,
Divide from nature's wilderness.

Then did the sunshine of thy face,
And sweet illapses of thy grace,
Like April showers and warming gleams,
Distil their dew, reflect their beams :
My dead affections then were green,
And hopeful buds on all were seen.

That God who made me spring at first, When I was barren and accurst, Can much more easily restore My state to what it was before ; A word, a smile, on my poor

soul Would make it perfect, sound, and whole.



WHEN Jordan hush'd his waters still,
And silence slept on Zion hill ;

When Bethlehem's shepherds through the night Watch'd o'er their flocks by starry light:

Hark! from the midnight hills around,
A voice of more than mortal sound,
In distant hallelujahs stole
Wild murmuring o'er the raptured soul.

Then, swift to every


New streams of glory light the sky;
Heaven bursts her azure gates, to pour
Her spirits to the midnight hour.

On wheels of light, on wings of flame,
The glorious hosts of Zion came;
High heaven with songs of triumph rung,
While thus they struck their harps, and sung:-

“O Zion ! lift thy raptured eye,
The long-expected hour is nigh;
The joys of Nature rise again,
The Prince of Salem comes to reign.

See, Mercy from her golden urn
Pours a rich stream to them that mourn ;
Behold, she binds, with tender care,
The bleeding bosom of despair !

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