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Ye frosts, that bind the wat❜ry plain,
Ye silent show'rs of fleecy rain,
Pursue the heav'nly theme;

Praise him who sheds the driving snow,
Forbids the harden'd waves to flow,
And stops the rapid stream.

Ye days and nights, that swiftly borne
From morn to eve, from eve to morn,
Alternate glide away,
Praise him, whose never-varying light,
Absent, adds horror to the night,
But, present, gives the day."

Light, from whose rays all beauty springs;
Darkness, whose wide-expanded wings
Involve the dusky globe;

Praise him, who, when the heav'ns he spread,
Darkness his thick pavilion made,
And light his regal robe.

Praise him, ye lightnings, as ye fly
Wing'd with his vengeance through the sky,
And red with wrath divine;
Praise him, ye clouds that wand'ring stray,
Or, fix'd by him, in close array
Surround his awful shrine.

Exalt, O Earth! thy Heav'nly King,
Who bids the plants that form the spring
With annual verdure bloom;

Whose frequent drops of kindly rain
Prolific swell the rip'ning grain,
And bless thy fertile womb

Ye mountains, that ambitious rise,
And heave your summits to the skies,
Revere his awful nod;

Think how you once affrighted fled,
When Jordan sought his fountain-head,
And own'd th' approaching God.

Ye trees, that fill the rural scene;
Ye flow'rs, that o'er th' enamell'd green
In native beauty reign;
O praise the Ruler of the skies,
Whose hand the genial sap supplies,
And clothes the smiling plain.

Ye secret springs, ye gentle rills,
That murm'ring rise among the hills,
Or fill the humble vale;

Praise him, at whose Almighty nod
The rugged rock dissolving flow'd,
And form'd a springing well.

Praise him, ye floods, and seas profound,
Whose waves the spacious earth surround,
And roll from shore to shore:

Aw'd by his voice, ye seas, subside;
Ye floods, within your channels glide,
And tremble and adore.

Ye whales, that stir the boiling deep,
Or in its dark recesses sleep,

Remote from human eye,

Praise him, by whom ye all are fed;
Praise him, without whose heavenly aid
Ye languish, faint, and die.

Ye birds, exalt our Maker's name;
Begin, and with th' important theme
Your artless lays improve;

Wake with your songs the rising day,
Let music sound on ev'ry spray,
And fill the vocal grove.

Praise him, ye beasts, that nightly roam
Amid the salutary gloom,

Th' expected prey to seize :
Ye slaves of the laborious plough,
Your stubborn necks submissive bow,
And bend your wearied knees.

Ye sons of men, his praise display,
Who stamp'd his image on your clay,
And gave it pow'r to move:
Ye that in Judah's confines dwell,
From age to age successive tell
The wonders of his love.

Let Levi's tribe the lay prolong,
Till angels listen to the song,
And bend attention down;

Let wonder seize the heavenly train,
Pleas'd while they hear a mortal strain
So sweet, so like their own.

And you your thankful voices join,
That oft at Salem's sacred shrine
Before his altars kneel;
Where thron'd in majesty he dwells,
And from the mystic cloud reveals
The dictates of his will.

Ye spirits of the just and good,
That, eager from the bless'd abode,
To heavenly mansions soar;
O let your songs his praise display,
Till heaven itself shall melt away,
And time shall be no more!

Praise him, ye meek and humble train
Ye saints, whom his decrees ordain
The boundless bliss to share ;
O praise him, till ye take your way
To regions of eternal day,

And reign for ever there!

Let us, who now impassive stand,
Aw'd by the tyrant's stern command,
Amid the fiery blaze;

While thus we triumph in the flame,
Rise, and our Maker's love proclaim,
In hymns of endless praise.

Merrick

PART OF THE NINETIETH PSALM.

O THOU, the first, the greatest friend,
Of all the human race!

Whose strong right hand has ever been
Their stay and dwelling place!

Before the mountains heav'd their heads
Beneath thy forming hand,

Before this pond'rous globe itself
Arose at thy command ;

That pow'r which rais'd and still upholds
This universal frame,

From countless, unbeginning time,

Was ever still the same.

Those mighty periods of years

Which seem to us so vast,
Appear no more before thy sight
Than yesterday that's past.

Thou giv'st the word: thy creature, man,
Is to existence brought;
Again thou say'st, 'Ye sons of men,
Return ye into nought!'

Thou layest them, with all their cares,
In everlasting sleep;

As with a flood thou tak'st them off
With overwhelming sweep.

They flourish, like the morning flow'r,
In beauty's pride array'd;

But long ere night cut down it lies,
All wither'd and decay'd.

Burns.

A PRAYER WRITTEN, AND LEFT, IN THE ROOM IN WHICH THE AUTHOR SLEPT FOR A NIGHT AT THE HOUSE OF A FRIEND.

*

O THOU dread Power, who reign'st above!

I know thou wilt me hear:

When for this scene of peace and love
I make my prayer sincere.

* Dr. Laurie, then minister of the parish of Loudon.

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