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Bear forth the cold corpse, slowly, slowly bear | him:
Hide his pale features with the sable pall: Chide not the sad one wildly weeping near him: Widowed and childless, she has lost her all!
Why pause the mourners? Who forbids our weeping?
Who the dark pomp of sorrow has delayed? "Set down the bier-he is not dead but sleeping! "Young man, arise!"-He spake, and was obeyed!
Change, then, oh sad one! grief to exultation, Worship and fall before Messiah's knee. Strong was his arm, the bringer of salvation, Strong was the word of God to succour thee!
NINETEENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY.
OH blest were the accents of early creation, When the word of Jehovah came down from above;
In the clods of the earth to infuse animation,
And wake their cold atoms to life and to love!
And mighty the tones which the firmament rended, When on wheels of the thunder, and wings of the wind,
By lightning, and hail, and thick darkness attended,
He uttered on Sinai his laws to mankind.
And sweet was the voice of the First-born of heaven,
(Though poor his apparel, though earthly his form,)
Who said to the mourner, "Thy sins are forgiven!"
"Be whole!" to the sick,-and "Be still!" to the storm.
Oh, Judge of the world! when, arrayed in thy glory,
TWENTY-FIRST SUNDAY AFTER
THE Sound of war! In earth and air
The volleying thunders roll: Their fiery darts the fiends prepare, And dig the pit, and spread the snare, Against the Christian's soul The tyrant's sword, the rack, the flame, The scorner's serpent tone, Of bitter doubt, the barbed aim, All, all conspire his heart to tame: Force, fraud, and hellish fires assail The rivets of his heavenly mail,
Amidst his foes alone.
Gods of the world! ye warrior host
In vain is all your impious boast,
The Christian can your rage defy;
"T is past! 't is o'er! in foul defeat
Thou wert my rock, my shield, my sword;
"T was in thy strength my heart was strong; Thy spirit went with mine along; How was I then alone?"
TWENTY-SECOND SUNDAY AFTER
Thy summons again shall be heard from on OH high,
God! my sins are manifold, against my life they cry,
While nature stands trembling and naked before And all my guilty deeds foregone, up to thy temthee,
And waits on thy sentence to live or to die;
When the heaven shall fly fast from the sound of thy thunder,
And the sun, in thy lightnings, grow languid and pale,
And the sea yield her dead, and the tomb cleave asunder,
In the hour of thy terrors, let mercy prevail!
Wilt thou release my trembling soul, that to despair is driven?
"Forgive!" a blessed voice replied, "and thou shalt be forgiven!"
My foemen, Lord! are fierce and fell, they spurn me in their pride,
They render evil for my good, my patience they deride;
FOR ST. JAMES'S DAY. THOUGH Sorrows rise and dangers roll In waves of darkness o'er my soul, Though friends are false and love decays, And few and evil are my days, Though conscience, fiercest of my foes, Swells with remembered guilt my woes, Yet ev'n in nature's utmost ill,
I love thee, Lord! I love thee still!
Though Sinai's curse, in thunder dread,
Oh, by the pangs thyself hast borne,
By these my pangs, whose healing smart
I know, I feel thy bounteous will!
Oн, captain of God's host, whose dreadful might Led forth to war the armed Seraphim, And from the starry height, Subdued in burning fight,
Cast down that ancient dragon, dark and grim!
Thine angels, Christ! we laud in solemn lays, Our elder brethren of the crystal sky,
Who, 'mid thy glory's blaze,
We celebrate their love, whose viewless wing
To mortal saints to bring,
Or guard the couch of slumbering infancy.
But thee, the first and last, we glorify, Who, when thy world was sunk in death and sin, Not with thine hierarchy,
The armies of the sky,
But didst with thine own arm the battle win,
Alone didst pass the dark and dismal shore Alone didst tread the wine-press, and alone, All glorious in thy gore,
Didst light and life restore,
Waft, waft, ye winds, his story,
It spreads from pole to pole;
TO BE SUNG BETWEEN THE LITANY AND COMMUNION SERVICE.
Oн most merciful!
Oh most bountiful!
Hear us, help us when we cry!
BEFORE THE SACRAMENT. BREAD of the world, in mercy broken!
Wine of the soul in mercy shed! By whom the words of life were spoken, And in whose death our sins are dead!
Look on the heart by sorrow broken,
Look on the tears by sinners shed, And be thy feast to us the token That by thy grace our souls are fed!
AT A FUNERAL.
BENEATH our feet and o'er our head
Is equal warning given;
Their names are graven on the stone,
Death rides on every passing breeze,
Our eyes have seen the rosy light
Our eyes have seen the steps of age
Turn, mortal, turn! thy danger know;
Turn, Christian, turn! thy soul apply
ON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND.
THOU art gone to the grave! but we will not deplore thee,
Though sorrows and darkness encompass the tomb:
Thy Saviour has passed through its portal before thee,
And the lamp of his love is thy guide through the gloom!
Thou art gone to the grave! we no longer behold thee,
Nor tread the rough paths of the world by thy side; But the wide arms of Mercy are spread to enfold thee,
And sinners may die, for the SINLESS has died!
Thou art gone to the grave! and, its mansion forsaking,
Perchance thy weak spirit in fear lingered long; But the mild rays of paradise beamed on thy waking,
And the sound which thou heardst was the seraphim’s song!
Thou art gone to the grave! but we will not deplore thee,
Whose God was thy ransom, thy guardian and guide;
He gave thee, he took thee, and he will restore thee,
And death has no sting, for the Saviour has died!*
The following stanzas were written as an addition to the above hymn, by an English clergyman, on hearing of the de
cease of the author.
ON RECOVERY FROM SICKNESS.
OH, Saviour of the faithful dead,
With whom thy servants dwell, Though cold and green the turf is spread Above their narrow cell,
No more we cling to mortal clay,
Nor shrink to tread the darksome way
'Twas hard from those I loved to go, Who knelt around my bed,
Whose tears bedewed my burning brow,
Whose arms upheld my head!
As fading from my dizzy view,
I sought their forms in vain,
'Twas dreadful when th' accuser's power
But, Jesus! in that mortal fray,
Thy blessed comfort stole,
When soon or late this feeble breath
And in the darksome way!
When clothed in fleshly weeds again I wait thy dread decree,
Judge of the world! bethink thee then That thou hast died for me.
Thou art gone to the grave! and whole nations bemoan thee,
Thou art gone to the grave! but thy work shall not perish,
Translations of Pindar.
THE FIRST OLYMPIC ODE.
TO HIERO OF SYRACUSE, VICTOR IN THE HORSE
CAN earth, or fire, or liquid air, With water's sacred stream compare? Can aught that wealthy tyrants hold Surpass the lordly blaze of gold?— Or lives there one, whose restless eye Would seek along the empty sky, Beneath the sun's meridian ray, A warmer star, a purer day?— O thou, my soul, whose choral song, Would tell of contests sharp and strong, Extol not other lists above The circus of Olympian Jove; Whence borne on many a tuneful tongue, So Saturn's seed the anthem sung, With harp, and flute, and trumpet's call, Hath sped to Hiero's festival.
Over sheep-clad Sicily
Who the righteous sceptre beareth, Every flower of virtue's tree
Wove in various wreath he weareth.
But the bud of poesy
Is the fairest flower of all; Which the bards, in social glee,
Strew round Hiero's wealthy hall.— The harp on yonder pin suspended,
Seize it, boy, for Pisa's sake;
And that good steed's, whose thought will wake
And earned the olive wreath of fame
-Well!-these are tales of mystery!-
While truth, calm truth, may speak in vain;
Can honour give to actions ill,
But, if we dare the deeds rehearse
'T were meet that in such dangerous verse
A plain unvarnished lay!-
That, when in heaven a favoured guest,
To which, in after day,
The dark-winged eagle's prey.—
And when no earthly tongue could tell
Some envious neighbour's spleen,
Thy mangled limbs were seen.-
That head was Lydia's lord.-