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THE CREATION.

Begin, my soul, th' exalted lay,
Let each enraptur'd thought obes,

And praise th' Almighty's name ;
Lo! heaven and earth, and seas and skies,
In one melodious concert rise

To swell th’ inspiring theme.

Ye fields of light, celestial plains,
Where gay transporting beauty reigns,

Ye scenes divinely fair!
Your Maker's wond'rous power proclaim,
Tell how he form'd your shining frame,

And breath'd the fluid air.

Ye angels catch the thrilling sound,
While all th' adoring thrones around

His boundless mercy sing;
Let every list'ning saint above,
Wake all the tuneful soul of love,

And touch the sweetest string.

Join, ye loud spheres, ye vocal choir :
Thou dazzling orb of liquid fire,

The mighty chorus aid !
Soon as gray ev'ning gilds the plain,
Thou moon protract the melting strain

And praise him in the shade.

Thou heaven of heavens, his vast abođe, Ye clouds, proclaim your forming God,

Who called yon worlds from night: * Ye shades disperse,” th' Eternal said; At once th' involving darkness fled,

And nature sprung to ligbt.

Whate'er a blooming world contains,
That wings the air, that skims the plains,

United praise bestow :
Ye dragons, sound his awful name
To heaven aloud, and roar acclaim

Ye swelling deeps below;

Let ev'ry element rejoice
Ye thunders burst with awful voice,

To bim who bade you roll :
His praise in soften'd notes declare,
Each whisp’ring breeze of yielding air,

And breathe it to the soul :

'To Him, ye graceful cedars bow,
Ye towering mountains bending low,

Your great Creator own;
Tell, when affrighted nature shook,
How Sinai kindl'd at his look,

And trembl’d at his frown.

Ye flocks that haunt the humble vale, Ye insects fluttering on the gale,

In mutual concert rise :

Crop the gay rose's vermeil bloom,
And wast its spoils a sweet perfume,

In incense to the skies,

Wake, all ye mountain tribes, and sing;
Toplumy warblers of the spring,

Harnionious anthems raise
To him who shap'd your finer mould,
Who tipp'd your glitt'ring wings with gold,

And iun'd your voice to praise.

Let man, by nobler passions sway'd,
The feeling heart, the judging head,

In heavenly praise employ;
Spread his tremendous name around,
Till heaven's broad arch rings back the sound,

The gen’ral burst of joy.

THE PRAISE OF THE REDEEMER.

Mighty God, while angels bless thee,

May an infant lisp thy name? Lord of men as well as angels,

Thou art every creature's theme. Lord of every land and nation,

Ancient of eternal days : Sounded through the wide creation,

Be thy jast and lawful praise,

For the grandeur of thy nature

Grand beyond a seraph's thought ; For created works of power,

Works with skill and kindness wrought;

For thy providence. that governs

Through thine empire's wide domain, Wings an angel, guides a sparrow ;

Blessed be thy gentle reign.

But thy rich, thy free redemption,

Dark through brightness all along; 'Thought is poor, and poor expression ;

Who dare sing that awful song ?

Brightness of the Father's glory,

Shall thy praise unutter'd lie ?
Fly, my tongue, such guilty silence;

Sing the Lord who came to die.

Did archangels sing thy coming ?

Did the sbepherds learn their lays ? Shame would cover me ungrateful,

Should my tongue refuse to praise.

From the highest throne in glory,

To the cross of deepest woe; All to ransom guilty captives !

Flow, my praise, for ever fion'.

Go, return, immortal Saviour,

Leave thy footstool, take thy throne;

Thence return and reign for ever,

Be she kingdom all thine own,

THE GREAT PHYSICIAN,

Prep are the wounds which sin has made ;

Where shall the sinner find a cure ? In vain, alas is nature's aid ;

The work exceeds all nature's pow'r.

And can no soy'reign balm be found;

And is no kind physician nigh,
To ease the paįn, and heal the wound,

Ere life and hope for ever fly.

There is a great Physician near,

Look up, 0 fainting soul, and live; See in his heavenly smiles appear

Such ease as nature cannot give.

See in tly dying Saviour's blood

Life, health, and bliss abundant flow; 'Tis only this all-powerful flood

Can ease thy pain, and heal thy woe.

Sin throps in vain its pointed dart,

Por 110W a sov'reign cure is fouud, A cordial for the fainting heart,

balu for ev'ry painful womud.

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