« AnteriorContinuar »
Thou art “ the life”-thine be the praise !
Thou art “ the way”—for thou alone
Mrs. H. More.
Ah! when did Wisdom covet length of days,
DELIGHT IN THE WORKS OF CREATION.
T. D. Hull.
Dear is the joy each warm heart knows,
The thrill of mutual love sincere; Dear is the happiness that flows
From making others happy here: Yea, even the consciousness is dear
Of warm existence, though unblest;
Creation's beauty to attest,
Who has not joy'd to see the sun,
From ocean burst on wings of light, While birds, their morning hymn begun,
Would hail the heavens and mountains bright? Who has not joy'd, as jewell'd night
Her tent high o'er the world hath spread, To view the grand, the unbounded sight
Nor thought, while he the scene survey'd, How infinite that Power which spake, and all was Oh! for the hour, the ecstatic hour,
When winter's raven blasts take wing; And rapture's renovating power
Comes bounding in the breath of spring! When trees are newly blossoming,
When flowers beneath the sun expand, And songs through all the ether ring
What heart the impulse can withstand, Nor inly bless the God who hath such blessings
GOD'S PROVIDENCE THE HONEST MAN'S
O man, thou image of thy Maker's good,
And bid her fall upon thee like sweet showers
HUMANITY AT HOME.
I HONOUR and I love the mind,
Whose warm and generous thoughts embrace The common interests of our kind,
Through time'slong track and earth's wide space; And, like the glorious god of day, Sheds o'er the world its living ray.
I watch with throbbing heart the zeal,
Whose all-incorporating plan
Can teach a million souls to feel
For all that's man's—for all that's Man ;
I've travelled many a country far,
Through Finland's wild, on Afric's strand, And there went with me, like a star,
The glory of my native land;
But sometimes sadness came, and dwelt
Within my heart. 'Twas proud to hear My country's name, but oh! I felt
That misery dwelt unheeded there : That hearts were sad, and eyes were wet,Forgotten—how could I forget ?
I would not check the nobly good,
Who, joy diffusing, widely roam ; But I would whisper, if I could,
Look round, for there are wrongs at home; And voices, though but feeble, call On heaven-on thee-on me on all !
Dost thou not hear their cry? to thee,
Who hear'st the lightest plaint of wo