Then, tho' thou bend my spirit low,
Love only shall I see :
The very hand that strikes the blow,
Was wounded once for me.
My song shall bless the Lord of all,
My praise shall climb to his abode;
Thee, Saviour, by that name I call,
The great supreme, the mighty GOD.
Without beginning or decline,
Object of faith, and not of sense;
Eternal ages saw him shine,
He shines eternal ages hence.
As much, when in the manger laid,
Almighty Ruler of the sky,
As when the six days' work he made
Fill'd all the morning stars with joy.
Of all the crowns JEHOVAH bears,
Salvation is his dearest claim;
That gracious sound well-pleased he hears,
And owns Emmanuel for his name.
A cheerful confidence I feel,
My well-plac'd hopes with joy I see;
My bosom glows with heav'nly zeal
To worship him who died for me.
As man, he pities my complaint,
His pow'r and truth are all divine:
He will not fail, he cannot faint,
Salvation's sure, and must be mine.
WHEN musing sorrow weeps the past,
And mourns the present pain ;
How sweet to think of peace at last,
And feel that death is gain!
'Tis not that murm'ring thoughts arise,
And dread a Father's will;
'Tis not that meek submission flies,
And would not suffer still.
It is that heav'n-taught faith surveys,
The path to realms of light;
And longs her eagle plumes to raise,
And lose herself in sight.
It is that hope with ardour glows,
To see HIM face to face,
Whose dying love no language knows
Sufficient art to trace.
It is that harass'd conscience feels,
That pangs of struggling sin;
Sees, though afar, the hand that heals,
And ends her war within.
Oh! let me wing my hallow'd flight
From earth-born woe and care;
And soar beyond these realms of night,
My Saviour's bliss to share.
THE MIDNIGHT WIND.
I've listen'd to the midnight wind
Which seem'd to fancy's ear
The mournful music of the mind,
The echo of a tear:
And still methought the hollow sound,
Which melting swept along,
The voice of other days had found,
With all the powers of song.
I've listen'd to the midnight wind,
And thought of friends untrue-
Of hearts that seem'd so fondly twin'd,
That nought would e'er undo:
Of cherish'd hopes, once fondly bright—
Of joys which fancy gave-
Of youthful eyes, whose lovely light
Where darken'd in the grave.
I've listen'd to the midnight wind
When all was still as death;
When nought was heard, before, behind-
Not even the sleeper's breath.
And I have sat at such an hour,
And heard the sick man's sigh;
Or seen the babe like some sweet flower,
At that lone moment die.
I've listen'd to the midnight wind,
And wept for others woe,
Nor could the heart such music find,
To bid its tear drops flow.
The melting voice of one we lov'd,
Whose voice was heard no more
Seem'd when those fancied chords were mov'd Still breathing as before.
I've listen'd to the midnight wind,
And sat beside the dead,
And felt those movings of the mind
Which own a secret dread,
The ticking clock which told the hour
Had then a sadder chime;
And these winds seem'd an unseen power,
Which sung the dirge of time.
I've listen'd to the midnight wind,
When, o'er the new-made grave
Of one whose heart was true and kind,
Its rudest blasts did rave.
O! there was something in the sound,
A mournful melting tone,
Which led the thoughts to that dark ground,
Where he was left alone.
I've listen'd to the midnight wind,
And courted sleep in vain
While thoughts like these have oft combin'd,
To rack the wearied brain.
And even when slumber soft and deep,
Have seen the eyelid close;
The restless soul which cannot sleep
Has stray'd till morning rose.
WHEN restless on my bed I lie,
Still courting sleep, which still will fly,
Then shall reflection's brighter pow'r
Illume the lone and midnight hour.
If hush'd the breeze and calm the tide,
Soft will the stream of mem'ry glide
And all the past, a gentle train,
Wak'd by remembrance, live again.
Perhaps that anxious friend I trace,
Belov'd till life's last throb shall cease,
Whose voice first taught a Saviour's worth
A future bliss unknown on earth.
His faithful counsel, tender care,
Unwearied love and humble pray'r:
O these still claim the grateful tear,
And all my drooping courage cheer.
If loud the wind, the tempest high,
And darkness wraps the sullen sky,
I muse on life's tempestuous sea,
And sigh, O Lord, to come to thee.
Toss'd on the deep and swelling wave,
O mark my trembling soul and save;
Give to my view that harbour near,
Where thou wilt chase each grief and fear.
VICTORY IN DEATH.
AWAY! thou dying saint, away!
Fly to the mansions of the blest,
Thy God no more requires thy stay,
He calls thee to eternal rest.
Thy toils at length have reach'd a close,
No more remains for thee to do;
Away, away to thy repose,
Beyond the reach of evil go.
Away to yonder realms of light,
Where multitudes, redeem'd with blood,
Enjoy the beatific sight,
And dwell for ever with their God,
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