If down I turn my wond'ring eyes,
On clouds and storms below;

Those lower regions of the skies
Thy num'rous glories show.

The noisy winds stand ready there
Thine orders to obey;

With sounding wings they sweep the air,
To make thy chariot way.

The rolling mountains of the deep
Obey thy stern command;

Thy breath can raise the billows steep,
Or sink them on the sand.

Thy glories blaze all nature round,
And strike the gazing sight,

Thro' skies, and seas, and solid ground,
With terror and delight.

But the mild glories of the Lord,

Our softer passions move;

Thy grace and pity, in thy word

We see, adore and love.

ON THE DECAY OF HUMANKIND.

Behold that tree, in autumn's dim decay,

Stript by the frequent, chill, and eddying wind; Where yet some yellow, lonely leaves we find Lingering and trembling on the naked spray, Twenty, perchance, for millions whirl'd away! Emblem, alas! too just of humankind! Vain man expects longevity, design'd For few indeed; and their protracted day What is it worth that wisdom does not scorns? The blasts of sickness, care, and grief appal, That laid the friends in dust, whose natal morn Rose near their own ;-and solemn is the call;—. Yet, like those weak, deserted leaves forlorn, Shivering they cling to life, and fear to fall!

THE DYING SAINT.

When life's tempestuous storms are o'er ;
How calm he meets the friendly shore,
Who liv'd averse to sin,

Such peace on virtue's path attends,
That where the sinner's pleasure ends,
The good man's joys begin.

See smiling patience smooth his brow! See bending angels downward bow! To lift his soul on high;

While eager for the blest abode,

He joins with them to praise the God Who taught him how to die.

The horrors of the grave and hell,
Those horrors which the wicked feel,
In vain their gloom display;

For he who bids yon comet burn,
Or makes the night descend, can turn
Their darkness into day.

No sorrow drowns his lifted eyes,
No horror rests the struggling sighs,
As from the sinner's breast,
His God, the God of peace and love,
Pours kindly solace from above,

And heals his soul with rest.

O grant, my Saviour, and my friend, Such joys may gild my peaceful end, And calm my evening close; While loos'd from every earthly tie, With steady confidence I fly

To him from whence I rose.

A WISH.

Whatever blessing you my life deny,

Grant me, kind Heaven, this one thing when I die.

I charge thee guardian spirit hear,

And as thou lov'st me, further this my prayer.

When I'm to leave this grosser sphere, and try Death, that amazing curiosity,

When just about to breathe my last.

Then when no mortal joy can strike my taste:

Let me soft melting strains of music hear,
Whose dying sounds may speak death to my ear;
Gently the bands of life unty,

Till in sweet raptures I dissolve and die.

How soft and easy my new birth will be
Help'd on my music's gentle midwifery!

And I who 'midst these charms expire, Shall bring a soul well tun'd to Heaven's quire.

MESSIAH.

A Sacred Eclogue.

Ye nymphs of Solyma! begin the song:
To heav'nly themes sublimer strains belong.
The mossy fountains, and the sylvan shades,
The dreams of Pindus, and th' Aonian maids,
Delight no more-0 thou my voice inspire
Who touch'd Isaiah's hollow'd lips with fire!
Rapt into future times, the bard begun :
A virgin shall conceive, a virgin bear a son!
From Jesse's root behold a branch arise,
Whose sacred flow'r with fragrance fills the skies:
Th' æthereal spirit o'er its leaves shall move,
And on its top descends the mystic dove.
Ye heav'ns! from high the dewy nectar pour,
And in soft silence shed the kindly show'r !
The sick and weak the healing plant shall aid,
From storms a shelter, and from heat a shade.
All crimes shall cease, and ancient fraud shall fail;
Returning justice lift aloft her scale;

Peace o'er the world her olive wand extend,
And white-rob'd innocence from heav'n descend.
Swift fly the years, and rise th' expected morn
Oh spring to light, auspicious Babe, be born!