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He who sits from day to day, Where the prison's lark is hung, Heedless of his loudest lay, Hardly knows that he has sung. Daily visitations come, Publishing to all aloud, Soon the grave must be your home, And your only suit a shroud. But the monitory strain, Oft repeated in our ears, Seems to sound too much in vain, Wins no notice, wakes no fears. Pleasure's call attention wins, Hear it often as we may; New as ever seem our sins, Though committed every day. Death and judgment, heaven and bell, 'These alone, so often heard, No more move us than the bell, When some stranger is interred. Oh, then, ere the turf or tomb Cover us from every eye, Spirit of instruction, come, Make us learn that we must die !
Composed upon Westminster Bridge, Sept. 3, 1803.
EARTH has not any thing to shew more fair.
[Wilson.] A CLOUD lay cradled near the setting sun,
A gleam of crimson tinged its braided snow; Long had I watched the glory moving on,
O'er the still radiance of the lake below below: Tranquil its spirit seemed, and floated slow,
F'en in its very motion there was rest, While every breath of eve that chanc'd to blow,
Wafted the traveller to the beauteous west. Emblem, methought, of the departed soul,
To whose white robe the gleam of bliss is given,
And by the breath of mercy made to roll
Right onward to the golden gates of heaven. Where to the eye of faith it peaceful lies, And tells to man his glorious destinies.
PRAYER OF JACOB.
O GOD of Abram! by whose hand
Thy people still are fed;
Hast all our fathers led !
Our vows, our prayers, we now present
Before thy throne of grace;
Of their succeeding race.
Our wandering footsteps guide,
And raiment fit provide !
Till all our wanderings cease,
Our feet arrive in peace!
Thy mercy we implore;
Thy goodness we'll adore.
FLEETNESS OF TIME.
Was it but yesterday I heard the roar
In yonder vale, beneath the hill-top tow'r,
[c, WESLEY.] Thou Judge of quick and dead,
Before whose bar severe, With holy joy or guilty dread,
We all shall soon appear:
For that tremendous day;
And stir us up to pray.
That awful hour unknown; When robed in majesty and power,
Thou shalt from heaven come down, Th’immortal Son of man,
To judge the human race,
With all thy glorious grace.
T'increase our gracious fears, For ever let th’ Archangel's voice
Be sounding in our ears. The solemn midnight cry,
• Ye dead, the Judge is come; Arise, and meet him in the sky,
And meet your instant doom!'
Obedient to his word;
And looking for our Lord !
A lot among the blest!
An everlasting rest.