Sivut kuvina

The fields provide me food, and show

The goodness of the Lord;
But fruits of life and glory grow

In thy most holy word.
Here are my choicest treasures hid,

Here my best comfort lies;
Here my

desires are satisfied, And hence my hopes arise.

Lord! make me understand thy law;

Show what my thoughts have been: And from thy gospel let me draw

Pardon for all my sin.

Here would I learn how Christ had died

To save my soul from Hell: Not all the books on Earth beside

Such heavenly wonders tell.
Then let me love my Bible more,

And take a fresh delight
By day to read these wonders o'er,
And meditate by night.




God never meant, that man should scale the

Heav'ns By strides of human wisdom, in his works, Though wondrous: he commands us in his word

To seek him rather, where his mercy shines.
The mind indeed, enlighten'd from above,
Views him in all; ascribes to the grand cause
The grand effect; acknowledges with joy
His manner, and with rapture tastes his style:
But never yet did philosophic tube,
That brings the planets home into the eye
Of observation, and discovers, else
Not visible, his family of worlds,
Discover him that rules them; such a veil
Hangs over mortal eyes, blind from the birth,
And dark in things divine. Full often too
Our wayward intellect, the more we learn
Of nature, overlooks her Author more;
From instrumental causes proud to draw
Conclusions retrograde, and mad mistake.
But if his word once teach us, shoot a ray
Through all the heart's dark chambers, and reveal
Truths undiscern'd but by that holy light,
Then all is plain. Philosophy, baptiz'd
In the pure fountain of eternal love,
Has eyes indeed; and viewing all she sees
As meant to indicate a God to man,
Gives him his praise, and forfeits not her own.
Learning has borne such fruit in other days
On all her branches : piety has found
Friends in the friends of science, and true prayr.
Has flow'd from lips wet with Castalian dews.
Such was thy wisdom, Newton, childlike sage! ?
Sagacious reader of the works of God,
And in his word sagacious. Such too thine,
Milton, whose genius had angelic wings,
And fed on manna! And such thine, in whom

Our British Themis gloried with just cause,
Immortal Hale! for deep discernment prais'd,
And sound integrity, not more than fam'd
For sanctity of manners undefild. Cowper.



Thy Justice, heav'nly king! and that great day,
When Virtue, long abandon’d and forlorn,
Shall raise her pensive head; and Vice, that erst
Rang'd unreprov'd and free, shall sink appallid;
I sing advent'rous--but what eye can pierce
The vast immeasurable realms of space,
O'er which Messiah drives his flaming car,
To that bright region, where enthron'd he sits,
First-born of Heav'n, to judge assembled worlds;
Cloth'd in celestial radiance? Can the Muse,
Her feeble wing all damp with earthly dew,
Soar to that bright empyreal, where around
Myriads of angels, God's perpetual choir,
Hymn hallelujahs, and in concert loud
Chant songs of triumph to their Maker's praise?
Yet will I strive to sing, albeit unus'd
To tread poetic soil. What though the wiles
Of Fancy me enchanted, ne'er could lure
To rove o'er fairy lands; to swim the streams
That through her valleys wave their mazy way;
Or climb her mountain tops: yet will I raise
My feeble voice to tell what harmony
(Sweet as the music of the rolling spheres)
Attunes the moral world ; that Virtue stili
May hope her promis'd crown: that Vice may dread


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Vengeance, though late ; that reas'ning Pride may Just, though unsearchable, the ways of Heav'n.

Sceptic? whoe'er thou art, who say'st the soul, That divine particle which God's own breath Inspir'd into the mortal mass, shall rest Annihilate, till Duration has unrollid Her never-ending line; tell, if thou know'st, Why every nation, ev'ry clime, though all In laws, in rites, in manners disagree, With one consent expect another world, [bards, Where wickedness shall weep? Why Paynim Fabled Elysian plains, Tartarian lakes, Styx and Cocytus ? Tell, why Hali's sons Have feign'd a paradise of mirth and love, Banquets, and blooming nymphs? or rather tell, Why, on the brink of Orellana's stream, Where never Science rear'd her sacred torch, Th’untutor'd Indian dreams of happier worlds Behind the cloud-topt hill? Why in each breast Is plac'd a friendly monitor, that prompts, Informs, directs, encourages, forbids? Tell, why on unknown evil grief attends, Or joy on secret good? Why conscience acts With tenfold force, when sickness, age, or pain Stands tottring on the precipice of death? Or why such horror gnaws the guilty soul Of dying sinners, while the good man sleeps Peaceful and calm, and with a smile expires ? Look round the world! with what a partial hand The scale of bliss and mis'ry is sustain'd! Beneath the shade of cold ob rity Pale Virtue lies; no arm supports her head, No friendly voice speaks comfort to her soul,

Nor soft-eyed Pity drops a melting tear;
But, in their stead, Contempt and rude Disdain
Insult the banish'd wanderer : on she goes,
Neglected and forlorn : Disease and Cold,
And Famine, worst of ills, her steps attend !
Yet patient, and to Heaven's just will resign'd,
She ne'er is seen to weep, or heard to sigh.

Now turn your eyes to yon sweet-smelling bow'r,
Where, flush'd with all the insolence of wealth,
Sits pamper'd Vice! For him th’ Arabian gale
Breathes forth delicious odours ; Gallia's hills
For him pour nectar from the purple vine.
Nor think for these he pays the tribute due
To Heav'n: of Heav'n he never names the name,
Save when with imprecations dark and dire
He points his jest obscene. Yet buxom Health
Sits on his rosy cheek; yet Honour gilds
His high exploits ; and downy-pinion'd Sleep
Sheds a soft opiate o'er his peaceful couch.

Seest thou this, righteous Father! seest thou this, And wilt thou ne'er repay? Shall good and ill Be carried undistinguish'd to the land Where all things are forgot !-Ah, no! the day Will come when Virtue from the clouds shall burst, That long obscur'd her beams; when Sin shall fly Back to her native Hell; there sink eclips'd In penal darkness; where no star shall rise, Nor ever sunshine pierce th' impervious gloom.

On that great day the solemn trump shall sound, (That trump which once in Heav'n on man's revolt Convok'd th' astonish'd seraphs) at whose voice Th'unpeopled graves shall pour forth all their dead Then shall th' assembled nations of the Earth From ev'ry quarter at the judgment-seat

VOL. .


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