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The weeping eye, that loathes the day, Finds peace beneath thy soothing sway; And faith and prayer o'ermastering grief, Burst forth, and bring the heart relief.

Yes, lovely hour! thou art the time
When feelings flow, and wishes climb ;
When timid souls begin to dare,
And God receives and answers prayer.

Then trembling through the dewy skies
Look out the stars, like thoughtful eyes
Of angels, calm reclining there,
And gazing on this world of care.

Then, as the earth recedes from sight,
Heaven seems to ope her fields of light,
And call the fettered soul above,
From sin and grief, to peace and love.

Sweet hour ! for heavenly musing madeWhen Isaac walked, and Daniel prayed; When Abram's offering God did own; And Jesus loved to be alone.

Who has not felt that Evening's hour
Draws forth devotion's tenderest

power ; That guardian spirits round us stand, And God himself seems most at hand ?



shame on men,

And chide their selfish silence, then : The flowers on high their incense send ; And earth and heaven unite and blend.

Let others hail the rising day :
I praise it when it fades away ;
When life assumes a higher tone,
And God and heaven are all my owr.



SPIRITS of light and love, who pace around

The city's sapphire walls; whose stainless feet Measure the gem-paved paths of sacred ground,

And trace the New Jerusalem's jasper street! Ah you, whose overflowing hearts are crowned With

your best wishes; who enjoy the sweet Of all your hopes; when next ye come before

My absent Lord, O say how I implore From his reviving eye one look of kindness more.

Tell Him, O tell Him, how my widowed breast

Beneath the burden of His frown has pined: Tell Him, O tell Him, how I lie oppressed

In all the tempest of a troubled mind.

O tell Him, tell Him, I can know no rest

Till He shall smile, as once, appeased and kind. Tell Him,

I think


the vows He sware His love, His truth, His grace and thus I dare Tocome before Him now with penitence and prayer.

Say, the parched soil desires not so the shower

To quicken and refresh her embryo grain ; Sar, the fallen crestlet of the drooping flower

Wooes not the bounty of the genial rain, As

my lorn spirit looks out for the hour When her lost Lord shall visit her again. Then, gentle spirits, should he hear your lays,

And seem to melt, your best Hosannahs raise; And with your heavenly notes sustain my feeble




Wilt Thou return to me, O Lord,

If I return to Thee?

O Heavenly truth! O gracious word !

My Hope and Refuge be!

Since from Thy foot I dared to roam,

My soul has found no rest, Chastised and contrite, back I come,

To seek it in Thy breast.

And dost Thou say Thou wilt receive,

And call me still Thy own? My spirit, hear, accept, believe !

And melt, my heart of stone !

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