WINTER. THE billowy shore is booming loud, The sky is black with storm and cloud, The fields are bare, the air is chill, And winter reigns from vale to hill. The shortening day, the muffled sky, The wild wind whistling bleakly by, The naked fields, the leafless tree, Speak, mortal man, speak all to thee. They talk of sin, they talk of woe, They taunt the author of their doom, And point him onward to the tomb. The waves lift up their voice; the woods Make solemn answer to the floods : They bid us stand abased and awed, And own an Omnipresent God. Calm on the tempest's hurrying wings His scourges o'er a world of sin. Almighty! be it mine to lie Adoring as Thou passest by, And hear Thee at the close proclaim The gentler glories of Thy name! The fire, the earthquake, and the wind- But in the Voice still, small, and dim, That speaks of Christ, and peace through Him. "MY BELOVED IS MINE, AND I AM HIS." IMITATED FROM QUARLES. LONG did I toil, and knew no earthly rest; Yes, He is mine! and nought of earthly things, Not all the charms of pleasure, wealth, or power, The fame of heroes, or the pomp of kings, Could tempt me to forego His love an hour. Go, worthless world, I cry, with all that's thine ! Go! I my Saviour's am, and He is mine. The good I have is from His stores supplied : He for my friend, I'm rich with nought beside; Whate'er may change, in Him no change is seen, A glorious sun, that wanes not, nor declines: Above the clouds and storms He walks serene, And on His people's inward darkness shines. All may depart-I fret not nor repine, While I my Saviour's am, while He is mine. He stays me falling; lifts me up when down; Reclaims me wandering; guards from every foe; Plants on my worthless brow the victor's crown, Which in return before His feet I throw, Grieved that I cannot better grace His shrine Who deigns to own me His, as He is mine. |