Murmuring a while, to rest his limbs he lays,
And the freed lawn enjoys its 'herd at ease.

Bless'd with the sudden calm, the sailors own That wretched Jonah worshipp'd right alone; Then make their vows, the victim sheep prepare, Bemoan the prophet, and the God revere.

Now, though you fear to lose the power to breathe,

Now, though you tremble, Fancy, dive beneath;
What worlds of wonders in the deep are seen!
But this the greatest-Jonah lives within!
The man who fondly fled the Maker's view,
Strange as the crime, has found a dungeon too.
God sent a monster of the frothing sea,

Fit, by the bulk, to gorge the living prey,

And lodge him still alive; this bulk receives
The falling prophet, as he dash'd the waves.
There, newly wak'd from fancied death, he lies,
And oft again in apprehension dies:

While three long days and nights, depriv'd of sleep,
He turn'd and toss'd him up and down the deep,
He thinks the judgment of the strangest kind,
And much he wonders what the Lord design'd;
Yet, since he lives, the gift of life he weighs,
That's time for prayer, and thus a ground for praise;
"From the dark entrails of the whale to thee,
(This new contrivance of a Hell to me)
To thee, my God, I cry'd; my full distress
Pier'd thy kind ear, and brought my soul redress.
Cast to the deep I fell, by thy command,
Cast in the midst, beyond the reach of land;
Then to the midst brought down, the seas abide
Beneath my feet, the seas on every side;
In storms the billow, and in calms the wave,
Are moving coverings to my wandering grave.
Fore'd by despair, I cry'd, How to my cost
I fled thy presence, ob, for ever lost!

But hope revives my soul, and makes me say,
Yet tow'rds thy temple shall I turn and pray;
Or, if I know not here where Salem lies,
Thy temple's Heaven, and faith has inward eyes.
Alas! the waters, which my whale surround,
Have through my sorrowing soul a passage found;
And now the dungeon moves, new depths I try,
New thoughts of danger all his paths supply.
The last of deeps affords the last of dread,
And wraps its funeral weeds around my head:
Now o'er the sand his rollings seem to go,
Where the big mountains root their base below;
And now to rocks and clefts their course they take,
Earth's endless bars, too strong for me to break;
Yet, from th' abyss, my God! thy grace divine
Hath call'd him upward, and my life is mine.
Still, as I toss'd, I scarce retain'd my breath,
My soul was sick within, and faint to death.
'Twas then I thought of thee, for pity pray'd,
And to thy temple flew the prayers I made.
The men, whom lying vanity ensnares,
Forsake thy mercy, that which might be theirs.
But I will pay-my God! my king! receive
The solemn vows my full affection gave,
When in thy temple, for a psalm, i sing
Salvation only from my God, my king."

Thus ends the prophet; first from Canaan sent,
To let the Gentiles know they must repent:
God hears, and speaks; the whale, at God's com-
mand,

Heaves to the light, and casts him forth to land.

With long fatigue, with unexpected ease, Oppress'd a while, he lies aside the seas;

His eyes, though glad, in strange astonish'd way
Stare at the golden front of cheerful day;
Then, slowly rais'd, he sees the wonder plain,
And what he pray'd, he wrote, to sing again.

The song recorded brings his vow to mind;
He must be thankful, for the Lord was kind;
Straight to the work he shunn'd he flies in haste
(That seems his vow, or seems a part at least);
Preaching he comes, and thus denounc'd to all,
Yet forty days, and Nineveh shall fall.
Fear seiz'd the Gentiles, Nineveh believes;
All fast with penitence, and God forgives.

Nor yet of use the prophet's suffering fails, Hell's deep black bosom more than shows the whale's,

But some resemblance brings a type to view,
The place was dark, the time proportion'd too.
"A race," the Saviour cries, 66 a sinful race,
Tempts for a sign the powers of heavenly grace,
And let them take the sign: as Jonah lay,
Three days and nights within the fish of prey;
So shall the Son of Mau descend below,
Earth's opening entrails shall retain him so."

My soul, now seek the song, and find me there What Heaven has shown thee to repel dispair; See, where from Hell she breaks the crumbling ground,

Her hairs stand upright, and they stare around;
Her horrid front deep-trenching wrinkles trace,
Lean sharpening looks deform her livid face;
Bent lie the brows, and at the bend below,
With fire and blood two wandering eye-balls glow;
Fill'd are her arms with numerous aids to kill,
And God she fancies but the judge of ill.
Oh, fair-ey'd Hope! thou see'st the passion nigh,
Daughter of Promise, oh forbear to fly!
Assurance holds thee, Fear would have thee go,
Close thy blue wings, and stand thy deadly foc;
The judge of ill is still the Lord of grace,
As such behold him in the prophet's case,
Cast to be drown'd, devour'd within the sea,
Sunk to the deep, and yet restor❜d to day.

Oh, love the Lord, my soul, whose parent care
So rules the world he punishes to spare.
If heavy grief my downcast heart oppress,
My body danger, or my state distress,
With low submission in thy temper bow,
Like Jonah pray, like Jonah make thy vow;
With hopes of comfort kiss the chastening rod,
And, shunning mad despair, repose in God;
Then, whatsoe'er the prophet's vow design,
Repentance, thanks, and charity, be mine.

HEZEKIAII.

FROM the bleak beach, and broad expanse of sea, To lofty Salem, Thought, direct thy way; Mount thy light chariot, move along the plains, And end thy flight when Hezekiah reigns.

How swiftly Thought has pass'd from land to land,

And quite out-run Time's measuring-glass of sand!
Great Salem's walls appear, and I resort
To view the state of Hezekiah's court.

Well may that king a pious verse inspire,
Who cleans'd the temple, who reviv'd the choir,
Pleas'd with the service David fix'd before,
That heavenly music might on Earth adore.
Deep-rob'd in white, he made the Levites stand
With cymbals, harps, and psalteries in their hand;

He gave the priests their trumpets, prompt to raise
The tuneful soul, by force of sound, to praise.
A skilful master for the song he chose,
The songs were David's these, and Asaph's those;
Then burns their offering, all around rejoice,
Fach tunes his instrument to join the voice;
The trumpets sounded, and the singers sung,
The people worshipp'd, and the temple rung.
Each, while the victim burns, presents his heart,
Then the priest blesses, and the people part.

Hail! sacred Music! since you know to draw
The soul to Heaven, the spirit to the law,
I come to prove thy force, thy warbling string
May tune my soul to write what others sing.

But is this Salem? this the promis'd bliss, These sighs and groans? what means the realm by this?

What solemn sorrow dwells in every street?
What fear confounds the downcast looks I meet?
Alas! the king! whole nations sink with woe,
When righteous kings are summon'd hence to go;
The king lies sick; and thus, to speak his doom,
The prophet, grave Isaiah, stalks the room:
"Oh, prince, thy servant, sent from God, believe;
Set all in order, for thou canst not live."
Solemn he said, and sighing left the place;
Deep prints of horrour furrow'd every face;
Within their minds appear eternal glooms,
Black gaping marbles of their monarchs' tombs;
A king belov'd deceas'd, his offspring none,
And wars destructive, ere they fix the throne.
Strait to the wall he turn'd, with dark despair,
('Twas tow'rds the temple, or for private prayer,)
And thus to God the pious monarch spoke,
Who burn'd the groves, the brazen serpent broke:
"Remember, Lord, with what a heart for right,
What care for truth, I walk'd within thy sight."
'Twas thus with terrour, prayers, and tears, he
toss'd,

When the mid-court the grave Isaiah cross'd,
Whom, in the cedar columns of the square,
Meets a sweet angel, hung in glittering air.
Seiz'd with a trance, he stopp'd, before his eye
Clears a rais'd arch of visionary sky,
Where, as a minute pass'd, the greater light
Purpling appear'd, and south'd and set in night;
A Moon succeeding leads the starry strain,
She glides, and sinks her silver horns again :
A second fancied morning drives the shades,
Clos'd by the dark, the second evening fades;
The third bright dawn awakes, and straight he sees
The temple rise, the monarch on his knees.
Pleas'd with the scene, his inward thoughts rejoice,
When thus the guardian angel form'd a voice:
"Now tow'rds the captain of my people go,
And, seer, relate him what thy visions show;
The Lord has heard his words, and seen his tears,
And through fifteen extends his future years."

Here, to the room prepar'd with dismal black, The Prophet turning, brought the comfort back. "Oh, monarch, hail," he cry'd; "thy words are heard,

Thy virtuous actions meet a kind regard; God gives thee fifteen years, when thrice a day Shows the round Sun, within the temple pray. "When thrice the day!" surpris'd, the monarch cries,

"When thrice the Sun! what power have I to rise! But, if thy comfort's human or divine, 'Tis short to prove it-give thy prince a sign."

hands,)

"Against yon lattice, where the dial stands;
Now shall the Sun a backward journey go
Through ten drawn lines, or leap to ten below."
""Tis easier posting Nature's airy track,"
Replies the monarch: "let the Sun
go back."
Attentive here he gaz'd, the prophet pray'd,
Back went the Sun, and back pursued the shade.
Cheer'd by the sign, and by the prophet heard,
What sacred thanks his gratitude reveal'd!
As sickly swallows, when a summer ends,
Who miss'd the passage with their flying friends,
Take to a wall, there lean the languid head,
While all who find them think the sleepers dead;
If yet their warmth new days of summer bring,
They wake, and joyful flutter up to sing:
So far'd the monarch, sick to death he lay,
His court despair'd, and watch'd the last decay;
At length new favour shines, new life he gains,
And rais'd he sings; 'tis thus the song remains:

"I said, my God, when in the loath'd disease
Thy prophet's words cut off my future days,
Now to the grave, with mournful haste, I go,
Now Death unbars his sable gates below.
How might my years by course of nature last!
But thou pronounc'd it, and the prospect pass
I said, my God, thy servant now no more
Shall in thy temple's sacred courts adore;
No more on Earth with living man converse,
Shrunk in a cold uncomfortable hearse.
My life, like tents which wandering shepherds raise,
| Proves a short dwelling, and removes at ease.
My sins pursue me; see the deadly band!
My God, who sees them, cuts me from the land;
As when a weaver finds his labour sped,
Swift from the beams he parts the fastening thread.
With pining sickness all from night to day,
From day to night, he makes my strength decay:
Reckoning the time, I roll with restless groans,
Till, with a lion's force, he crush my bones;
New morning dawns, but, like the morning past,
'Tis day, 'tis night, and still my sorrows last.
Now, screaming like the crane, my words I spoke,
Now, like the swallow, chattering quick, and broke,
Now, like the doleful dove, when on the plains
Her mourning tone affects the listening swains.
To Heaven, for aid, my wearying eyes I throw,
At length they're weary'd quite, and sink with

woe.

From Death's arrest, for some delays, I sue;
Thou, Lord, who judg'd me, thou reprieve me, too,
Rapture of joy! what can thy servant say?
He sent his prophet to prolong my day;
Through my glad limbs I feel the wonder run,
Thus said the Lord, and this himself has done,
Soft shall I walk, and, well secur'd from fears,
Possess the comforts of my future years.
Keep soft, my heart, keep humble, while they roll,
Nor e'er forget my bitterness of soul.
'Tis by the means thy sacred words supply,
That mankind live, but in peculiar I;
A second grant thy mercy pleas'd to give,
And my rais'd spirits doubly seem to live.
Behold the time! when peace adorn'd my reign,
'Twas then I felt my stroke of humbling pain;
Corruption dug her pit, I fear'd to sink,
God lov'd my soul, and snatch'd me from the brink:
He turn'd my follies from his gracious eye,
As men who pass accounts, and cast them by.

"What mouth has Death, which can thy praise proclaim? [name? What tongue the Grave, to speak thy glorious Or will the senseless dead exult with mirth, Mov'd to their hope by promises on Earth? The living, Lord, the living only praise, The living only fit to sing thy lays:These feel thy favours, these thy temples see; These raise the song, as I this day to thee. Nor will thy truth the present only reach, This the good fathers shall their offspring teach; Report the blessings which adorn my page, And hand their own, with mine, from age to age. "So, when the Maker heard his creature crave, So kindly rose his ready will to save, Then march we solemn tow'rds the temple-door, While all our joyful music sounds before; There, on this day, through all my life appear, When this comes round in each returning year; There strike the strings, our voices jointly raise, And let his dwellings hear my songs of praise." Thus wrote the monarch, and I'll think the lay Design'd for public, when he went to pray; I'll think the perfect composition runs, Perform'd by Heman's or Jeduthun's sons.

Then, since the time arrives the seer foretold, And the third morning rolis an orb of gold, With thankful zeal, recover'd prince, prepare To lead thy nation to the dome of prayer.

My fancy takes her chariot once again,
Moves the rich wheels, and mingles in thy train;
She sees the singers reach Moriah's hill,
The minstrels follow, then the porches fill;
She wakes the numerous instruments of art,
That each perform its own adapted part;
Seeks airs expressive of thy grateful strains,
And, listening, hears the vary'd tune she feigns.
From a grave pitch, to speak the monarch's woe,
The notes flow down and deeply sound below;
All long-continuing, while depriv'd of ease
He rolls for tedious nights and heavy days.
Here intermix'd with discord, when the crane
Screams in the notes, through sharper sense of
pain;

There, run with descant on, and taught to shake,
When pangs repeated force the voice to break:
Now like the dove they murmur, till in sighs
They fall, and languish with the failing eyes:
Then slowly slackening, to surprise the more,
From a dead pause his exclamations soar,
To meet brisk health the notes ascending fly,
Live with the living, and exult on high:
Yet still distinct in parts the music plays,
Till prince and people both are call'd to praise;
Then all, uniting, strongly strike the string,
Put forth their utmost breath, and loudly sing;
The wide-spread chorus fills the sacred ground,
And holy transport scales the clouds with sound.
Or thus, or livelier, if their hand and voice
Join'd the good anthem, might the realm rejoice.
This story known, the learn'd Chaldeans came,
Drawn by the sign observ'd, or mov'd by fame;
These ask the fact for Hezekiah done,

And much they wonder at their god the Sun,
That thrice he drove, through one extent of day,
His gold-shod horses in etherial way:
Then vainly ground their guess on Nature's laws;
The soundest knowledge owns a greater cause.

Faith knows the fact transcends, and bids me find What help for practice here incites the mind:

| Straight to the song, the thankful song, I move; May such the voice of every creature prove! If every creature meets its share of woe, And for kind rescues every creature owe, In public so thy Maker's praise proclaim, Nor what you begg'd with tears, conceal with shame. 'Tis there the ministry thy name repeat, And tell what mercies were vouchsaf'd of late; Then joins the church, and begs, through all our days,

Not only with our lips, but lives, to praise.

'Tis there our sovereigns, for a signal day The feast proclaim'd, their signal thanks repay. O'er the long streets we see the chariots wheel, And, following, think of Hezekiah still.

In the bless'd dome we meet the white-rob'd choir,
In whose sweet notes our ravish'd souls aspire;
Side answering side, we hear, and bear a part,
All warm'd with language from the grateful heart;
Or raise the song, where meeting keys rejoice,
And teach the base to wed the treble voice;
Art's softening echoes in the music sound,
And, answering nature's, from the roof rebound.
Here close my verse, the service asks no more,
Bless thy good God, and give the transport o'er.

HABAKKUK.

Now leave the porch, to vision now retreat, Where the next rapture glows with varying heat; Now change the time, and change the temple-scene, The following seer forewarns a future reign. To some retirement, where the prophet's sons Indulge their holy flight, my fancy runs; Some sacred college, built for praise and prayer, And heavenly dream, she seeks Habakkuk there. Perhaps 'tis there he moans the nation's sin, Hears the word come, or feels the fit within; Or sees the vision, fram'd with angels' hands, And dreads the judgments of revolted lands; Or holds a converse, if the Lord appear, And, like Elijah, wraps his face for fear. This deep recess portends an act of weight, A message labouring with the work of Fate.

Methinks the skies have lost their lovely blue, A storm rides fiery, thick the clouds ensue. Fall'n to the ground, with prostrate face I lie: Oh! 'twere the same in this to gaze and die! But hark the prophet's voice; my prayers complain Of labour spent, of preaching urg'd in vain. And must, my God, thy sorrowing servant still 2uit my lone joys, to walk this world of ill? Where spoiling rages, strife and wrong command, And the slack'd laws no longer curb the land?

At this a strange and more than human sound Thus breaks the cloud, and daunts the trembling ground.

"Behold, ye Gentiles; wondering all behold,
What scarce ye credit, though the work be told;
For, lo, the proud Chaldean troops I raise,
To march the breadth, and all the region seize;
Fierce as the prowling wolves, at close of day,
And swift as eagles in pursuit of prey.
As eastern winds to blast the season blow,
For blood and rapine flies the dreadful foe;
Leads the sad captives, countless as the sand,
Derides the princes, and destroys the land.
Yet these, triumphant grown, offend me more,
And only thank the gods they chose before."

"Art thou not holiest," here the prophet cries; "Supreme, eternal, of the purest eyes?

And shall those eyes the wicked realms regard,
Their crimes be great, yet victory their reward?
Shall these still rave more and more to reign,
Draw the full net, and cast to fill again?
As watch-men silent sit, I wait to see
How solves my doubt, what speaks the Lord to me."
"Then go," the Lord replies, "suspend thy fears,
And write the vision for a term of years:
Thy foes will feel their turn when those are past,
Wait, though it tarry; sure it comes at last.
'Tis for their rapine, lusts, and thirst of blood,
And all their unprotecting gods of wood,
The Lord is present on his sacred hill,

Cease thy weak doubts, and let the world be still."
Here terrour leaves me; with exalted head,
I breathe fine air, and find the vision fled;
The seer withdrawn, inspir'd, and urg'd to write,
By the warm influence of the sacred sight.

His writing finished, prophet-like array'd,
He brings the burthen on the region laid;
His hands a tablet and a volume bear,
The tablet threatenings, and the volume prayer;
Both for the temple, where, to shun decay,
Enroll'd the works of inspiration lay.
And awful, oft he stops, or marches slow,
While the dull'd nation hears him preach theirwoe.
Arriv'd at length, with grave concern for ail,
He fix'd his table on the sacred wall. [read:
'Twas large inscrib'd, that those who run might
"Habakkuk's burthen, by the Lord decreed;
For Judah's sins her empire is no more,
The fierce Chaldeans bathe her realm in gore."
Next to the priest his volume he resign'd,
'Twas prayer, with praises mix'd, to raise the mind;
'Twas facts recounted, which their fathers knew;
'Twas power in wonders manifest to view;
'Twas comfort, rais'd on love already past,
And hope, that former love returns at last.
The priests within the prophecy convey'd,
The singers tunes to join his anthem made.
Hear, and attend the words: and, holy Thou
That help'd the prophet, help the poet now.

"O, Lord, who rul'st the world, with mortal ear I've heard thy judgments, and I shake for fear. O Lord, by whom their number'd years we find, Ev'n in the midst receive the drooping mind; Ev'n in the midst thou canst-then make it known, Thy love, thy will, thy power, to save thine own. Remember merry, though thine anger burn, And soon to Salem bid thy flock return.

O, Lord, who gav'st it with an outstretch'd hand,
We well remember how thou gav'st the land.
"God came from Teman, southward sprung the
flame,

Prom Paron-mount the One that's holy came;
A glittering glory made the desert blaze,

Fix'd on the mount he stood, his measuring reed
Marks the rich realms for Jacob's seed decreed:
He looks with anger, and the nations fly
From the fierce sparklings of his dreadful eye;
He turns, the mountain shakes its awful brow;
Awful he turns, and hills eternal bow.
How glory there, how terrour here, displays
His great unknown, yet everlasting ways!

"I see the sable tents along the strand
Where Cushan wander'd, desolately stand;
And Midian's high pavilions shake with dread,
While the tam'd seas thy rescued nation tread.
What burst the path? what made the Lord engage?
Could waters anger, seas incite thy rage,
That thus thine horses force the foaming tide,
And all the chariots of salvation ride?
Thy bow was bare for what thy mercy swore;
These oaths, that promise, Israel had before.

"The rock that felt thee cleav'd, the rivers flow, The wondering desert lends them beds below. Thy might the mountain's heaving shocks confess'd, High shatter'd Horeb trembled o'er the rest. Great Jordan pass'd its nether waters by, Its upper waters rais'd the voice on high: Safe in the deep we went, the liquid wall Curling arose, and had no leave to fall. The Sun effulgent, and the Moon serene, Stopt by thy will, their heavenly course refrain: The voice was man's, yet both the voice obey, Till wars completed close the lengthen'd day. Thy glittering spears, thy rattling darts prevail, Thy spears of lightning, and thy darts of hail. 'Twas thou that march'd against their heathen band, Rage in thy visage, and thy flail in hand; 'T was thou that went before to wound their head, The captain follow'd where the Saviour led: Torn from their earth, they feel the desperate

wound,

And power unfounded fails for want of ground.
With village-war thy tribes, where'er they go,
Distress the remnant of the scatter'd foe;
Yet mad they rush'd, as whirling wind descends,
And deem'd for friendless those the Lord befriends.
Thy trampling horse from sea to sea subdue,
The bounding ocean left no more to do.

O, when I heard what thou vouchsaf'st to win, With works of wonder must be lost for sin; I quak'd through fear, the voice forsook my tongue, Or, at my lips, with quivering accent hung; Dry leanness entering to my marrow came, And every loosening nerve unstrung my frame. How shall I rest, in what protecting shade, When the day comes, and hostile troops invade?

Though neither blossoms on the fig appear, Nor vines with clusters deck the purpling year; Though all our labours olive-trees belie,

praise.

Dazzling the brightness, not the Sun so bright,
"Twas here the pure substantial fount of light;
Shot from his hand and side in golden streams,
Came forward effluent horny-pointed beams:
Thus shone his coming, as sublimely fair
As bounded nature has been fram'd to bear;
But all his further marks of grandeur hid,
Nor what he could was known, but what he did.
Dire plagues before him ran at his command,
To waste the nations in the promis'd land.
A scorching flame went forth where'er he trod,
And burning fevers were the coals of God.

Though flocks are sever'd from the silent fold,
And the rais'd stalls no lowing cattle hold;
Yet shall my soul be glad, in God rejoice,
Yet to my Saviour will I lift my voice;
Yet to my Saviour still my temper sings,
What David set to instruments of strings:
The Lord's my strength, like hinds he makes my
feet,

Yon mount's my refuge, I as safely fleet;
Or (if the song's apply'd) he makes me still
Expect returning to Moriah's hill."

In all this hymn what daring grandeur shines, What darting glory rays among the lines:

are seen,

What ambient fires conceal the Lord within;
What working wonders give the promis'd place,
And load the conduct of a stubborn race!
In all the work a lively fancy flows,
O'er all the work sincere affection glows:
While Truth's firm rein the course of Fancy guides,
And o'er affection zeal divine presides.

Borne on the prophet's wings, methinks I fly
Amongst eternal attributes on high:
And here I touch at Love supremely fair,
And now at Power, anon at Mercy there;
So, like a warbling bird, my tunes I raise,
On those green boughs the Tree of Life displays;
Whose twelve fair fruits, each month by turns re-
ceives,

And, for the nations' healing, ope their leaves.
Then be the nations heal'd, for this I sing,
Descending softly from the prophet's wing.

Thou, world, attend the case of Israel; see
'T will thus at large refer to God and thee,
If Love be shown thee, turn thine eyes above,
And pay the duties relative to Love;
If Power be shown, and wonderfully so,
Wonder and thank, adore, and bow below.
If Power that led thee, now no longer lead,
But brow-bent Justice draws the flaming blade;
When Love is scorn'd, when Sin the sword pro-
vokes,

Let tears and prayers avert, or heal the strokes;
If Justice leaves to wound, and thou to groan,
Beneath new lords, in countries not thine own,
Know this for Mercy's act, and let your lays,
Grateful in all, recount the cause of praise:
Then Love returns, and while no sins divide
The firm alliance, Power will shield thy side.
See the grand round of Providence's care,
See realms assisted here, and punish'd there;
O'er the just circle cast thy wondering eyes,
Thank while you gaze, and study to be wise.

HYMN FOR MORNING.

SEE the star that leads the day,
Rising, shoots a golden ray,
To make the shades of darkness go
From Heaven above and Earth below;
And warn us early with the sight,
To leave the beds of silent night;
From an heart sincere and sound,
From its very deepest ground;
Send devotion up on high,

Wing'd with heat to reach the sky.
See the time for sleep has run,
Rise before, or with the Sun:
Lift thy hands, and humbly pray,
The fountain of eternal day;
That, as the light serenely fair,
Illustrates all the tracts of air;
The Sacred Spirit so may rest,

With quickening beams, upon thy breast;
And kindly clean it all within,
From darker blemishes of sin;
And shine with grace until we view
The realm it gilds with glory too.
See the day that dawns in air,
Brings along its toil and care:

VOL. IX.

With heaps of business on its wings;
Prepare to meet them in a mind,
That bows submissively resign'd;
That would to works appointed fall,
That knows that God has order'd all.
And whether, with a small repast,
We break the sober morning fast;
Or in our thoughts and houses lay
The future methods of the day;
Or early walk abroad to meet
Our business, with industrious feet:
Whate'er we think, whate'er we do,
His glory still be kept in view.
O, giver of eternal bliss,
Heavenly Father, grant me this;
Grant it all, as well as me, -
All whose hearts are fix'd on thee;
Who revere thy Son above,
Who thy Sacred Spirit love.

HYMN FOR NOON.
THE Sun is swiftly mounted high,
It glitters in the southern sky;
Its beams with force and glory beat,
And fruitful Earth is fill'd with heat.
Father, also with thy fire

Warm the cold, the dead desire,
And make the sacred love of thee,
Within my soul, a sun to me.
Let it shine so fairly bright,
That nothing else be took for light;
That worldly charms be seen to fade,
And in its lustre find a shade.
Let it strongly shine within,
To scatter all the clouds of sin,
That drive when gusts of passion rise,
And intercept it from our eyes.
Let its glory more than vie
With the Sun that lights the sky:
Let it swiftly mount in air,
Mount with that, and leave it there;
And soar, with more aspiring flight,
To realms of everlasting light.
Thus, while here I'm forc'd to be,
I daily wish to live with thee;
And feel that union which thy love
Will, after death, complete above.
From my soul I send my prayer,
Great Creator, bow thine ear;
Thou, for whose propitious sway
The world was taught to see the day;
Who spake the word, and Earth begun,
And show'd its beauties in the Sun;
With pleasure I thy creatures view,
And would, with good affection too;
Good affection sweetly free,
Loose from them, and move to thee;
O, teach me, due returns to give,
And to thy glory let me live;

And then my days shall shine the more,
Or pass more blessed than before.

HYMN FOR EVENING. THE beam-repelling mists arise, And evening spreads obscurer skies:

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