PRAISE TO GOD. BEGIN, my soul, th' exalted lay, Ogilvy. And praise th' Almighty's name. To swell th' inspiring theme. Ye angels, catch the joyful sound, Let every list'ning saint above Thou heaven of heavens, his vast abode, Ye deeps, with roaring billows rise, Wake all ye soaring throngs, and sing, Harmonious anthems raise, To Him who shap'd your finer mould, Let man, by nobler passions sway'd, Till heaven's broad arch ring back the sound, GLORY OF THE CREATOR. THOU art, O God! the life and light Are but reflections caught from thee. Through golden vistas, into heaven. When night, with wings of starry gloom, Moore. Like some dark beauteous bird whose plume Is sparkling with unnumber'd eyes That sacred gloom, those fires divine, When youthful spring around us breathes, HEAVEN. THERE is an hour of peaceful rest There is a soft, a downy bed, There is a home for weeping souls, When toss'd on life's tempestuous shoals, There faith revives the tearful eye, Moore. And views the tempest passing by, There fragrant flowers immortal bloom, A MOONLIGHT MEDITATION. HERE plac'd beyond all human ken, Far from the world's intrusive eye, Far from the haunts of toilsome men, I stand, and view the blue-rob'd sky. Wide o'er the heavens' celestial glow, While moon and stars in glory shine, A raptur'd glance around I throw, And own the Maker's hand divine! When I behold these orbs that roll, Whose birth with times remote began; These lights that burn from pole to pole, And they but parts of one great plan! Warm from my soul the strain ascends, That hails the Lord of Nature's frame; My lowly heart before him bends, And transport kindles at his name. These works Omnipotence declare, Aloud proclaim transcendant care. Almighty, all pervading will! Thy hand hath nothing made in vain Thy bounties e'en to me extend; Thy gifts diffus'd like vernal rain, On all thy works alike descend. Spirit supreme! in all things found, In radiant spheres, or earth's green sod; Author of all this wond'rous round, Creative, all-supporting God! ; Almighty Maker! when I trace Thousands of worlds that round me lie, Harmonious, roll'd through boundless space, My heart exclaims, Lord, what am I! Compar'd with what my eyes can see, I seem a point, a dubious line; And these, when I compare with thee, Appear in lessening shades like mine. Compar'd with time and endless space, An insect of a day I seem; A grain of dust on Nature's face ;My present being, but a dream! Unconscious when I first drew breath, Unknowing when my life will close, Yet certain the cold hand of death Will one day sink me to repose. A power which must from thee begin, Which thinks, which wills, which acts unseen. |