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No cloud those blissful regions know,

For ever bright and fair ;
For sin, the source of mortals' woe,

Can never enter there.
There no alternate night is known,

Nor yet the scorching ray;
But glory from th' eternal throne

Spreads everlasting day.
Oh! may this heavenly prospect fire

Our hearts with ardent love!
May lively faith, and strong desire,

Bear ey'ry thought above.


AWAKE, my soul, and with the sun
Thy daily stage of duty run;
Shake off dull sloth, and early rise
To pay the morning sacrifice.

Redeem thy mispent time that's past,
And live this day as 'twere the last;
T'improve thy talents take due care;
Gainst the great day thyself prepare.
Let all thy converse be sincere,
Thy conscience, as the noop day, clear;
Think how th' all-seeing God thy ways,
And all thy secret thoughts, surveys,

Wake, and lift up thyself, my heart,
And with the angels bear thy part,
Who all night long unwearied sing
Glory to th' eternal King.
Glory to thee, who safe hast kept,
And hast refresh'd me whilst I slept;
Grant, Lord, when I from death shall wake,
I may of endless joy partake.
Lord, I my vows to thee renew;
Scatter my sins as morning dew;
Guard my first springs of thought and will,
And with thyself my spirit fill.
Direct, controul, suggest, this day,
All I design, or do, or say;
Tbat all my pow'rs, with all their might,
In thy sole glory may unite.
Praise God, from whom all blessings flow;
Praise him, all creatures here below;
Praise him above, y'angelic host ;
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost:


GLORY to thee, my God, this night,
For all the blessings of the light;
Keep me, , O keep me, King of kings,
Under thine own Almighty wings,

Fargive me, Lord, for thy dear Son,
The ills, which I this day have done;
That with the world, myself and thee,
1, e'er Į sleep, at peace may be.
0! may my soul on thee repose,
And with sweet sleep my eyelids close ;
Sleep, that may me more active make,
To serve my God, when I awake,
Teach me to live, that I may dread,
The grave as little as my bed;
Teach me to die, that so I may,
With joy behold the judgment day,
If wakeful in the night I liez
My soul with heavenly thoughts supply,
Let no ill dreams disturb my rest,
No pow'rs of darkness me molest.
Let my blest guardian, while I sleep,
His watchful station near me keep ;
My heart with love celestial hill,
And save me from th' approach of ill.


At the close of the day, when the hamlet is still,

And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove, When nought but the torrent is heard on the hill,

And nought but the nightingale's song in the grove;

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'Twas thus, by the cave of a mountain afir;

While his harp rung symphonious, a hermit began, No more with himself, or with nature at war,

He thought as a sage, tho' he felt as a man. "Ah! why thus abandon'd to darkness and woe?

“Why, lone Philomela, that languishing fall ? “For spring shall return, and a boon shall bestow,

“ And sorrow no longer thy bosom enthral; “But, if pity inspire thee, renew thy sad lay, “ Mourn, sweetest complainer, man calls thee to,

mourn, “Oh! soothe him whose pleasures, like thine pass away,

“ Full quickly they pass, but they never return. “Now, gliding remote on the verge of the sky,

The moon, half extinguished, her crescent displays, “ But lately I marked when majestic on high

“ She shone, and the planets were lost in ber rays. “Roll on, thou fair orb! and, with gladness, pursue

“ The path that conducts thee to splendour again; “But, man’s faded glory! what change shall renew ?

“Ah! fool! to exult in a glory so vain. “'Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no more,

“I mourn, but, ye woodlands, I mourn not for you, For morn is returning your charms to restore, “Perfumed with fresh fragrance, and glittering with

« dew : "" Nor yet for the ravage of winter I mourn,

“ Kind nature the embryo blossom will save; * But, when will spring visit the mouldering urr,

« Oh! when will it dawn on the night of the grave!

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“'Twas thus, by the glare of false science betrayed,

• That leads to bewilder, and dazzles to blind, My thoughts wont to rove from shade onward to shade,

Destruction before me, and sorrow behind : - Oh! pity, great Father of light! then, I cried,

" Thy creature, who fain wouid not wander from thee; " Lo! humbled in dust, I relinquish my pride,

“From doubt and from darkness thou only canst free. " And darkness and doubt are now flying away,

“ No longer I roam in conjecture forlorn, “So breaks on the traveller faint and astray,

“ The bright and the balmy effulgence of morn. “ See truth, love, and mercy, in triu descending,

“ And nature all glowing in Eden's first bloom ; 6. On the cold cheek of death smiles and roses are

« blending, “ And beauty, immortal, awakes from the tomb.”


Written on the last day of the year 1823,
EIGHTEEN hundred and twenty-three

Is now for ever past ;
Eighteen hundred and twenty-four

Will fly away as fast.
But whether life's uncertain scene

Shall hold an equal pace;
Or whether death shall come between

And end my mortal race ;

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