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But not a single blast can rise,

And not a single billow swell,
But by His power, who, good and wise,

Permits it, and does all things well.
While to our heavenly home we sail,

We sometimes need the tempest's force; Perpetual sun and calm would fail

To drive us onward in our course. He who rules all things by His arm,

Knows and administers the best, And we shall praise for seeming harm, When we have entered into rest.




“Who is he that condemneth? It is Christ that died."

Rom. viii. 34.

Who can condemn? for, Jesus died,

And we in Him are justified;
He died—nay, rather ever lives,

And needful grace and guidance gives.
He lives with God to intercede,

To succour us in time of need;
His eyes our painful paths survey,

And watch our footsteps lest we stray.
What can from Him our souls divide ?

Not trouble, time, nor distance wide;
Not things below, nor things above,

Nor death can part us from His love.

The cross on earth, the crown in heaven,

Are to the Saviour's followers given;
and ever reigns, that

With Christ shall reign-triumphantly.



Rest of thy sons, amid thy foes forlorn,
Mourn, widowed queen I forgotten Zion, mourn!
Is this thy place, sad city, this thy throne,
Where the wild desert rears the craggy

stone ?
While sons unblest their angry lustre fling,
And wayworn pilgrims seek the scanty spring ?
Where now thy pomp, which kings with envy viewed?
Where now thy might, which all those kings subdued?
No martial myriads muster in thy gate;
No suppliant nations in thy temple wait;
No prophet-bards, thy glittering courts among,
Wake the full lyre, and swell the tide of song:
But lawless Force, and meagre Want, are there,
And the quick-darting eye of restless Fear,
While cold Oblivion, 'mid thy ruins laid,
Folds his dank wing beneath the ivy shade.

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Yet still destruction sweeps the lonely plain,
And heroes lift the generous sword in vain,
Still o'er her sky the clouds of anger roll,
And God's revenge hangs heavy on her soul.
Yet shall she rise :- but not by war restored,
Nột built in murder,-planted by the sword.

Yes, Salem, thou shalt rise: thy Father's aid
Shall heal the wound His chastening hand has made;
Shall judge the proud oppressor's ruthless sway,
And burst his brazen bonds, and cast his cords away.
Then on your tops shall deathless verdure spring,
Break forth, ye mountains, and ye valleys, sing!
No more your thirsty rocks shall frown forlorn,
The unbeliever's jest, the heathen's scorn:
The sultry sands shall tenfold harvests yield,
And a new Eden deck the thorny field.
E’en now, perchance, wide waving o'er the land,
The mighty angel lifts his golden wand,
Courts the bright vision of descending power,
Tells every gate, and measures every tower,
And chides the tardy seals that yet detain
Thy Lion, Judah, from His destined reign.
And who is He? the vast, the awful form,
Girt with the whirlwind, sandalled with the storm ?
A western cloud around His limbs is spread,
His crown a rainbow, and a sun His head.
To highest heaven He lifts His kingly hand,
And treads at once the ocean and the land;
And, hark! His voice amid the thunder's roar,
His dreadful voice, that time shall be no more!
Lo! cherub hands the golden courts prepare ;
Lo! thrones arise, and every saint is there;
Earth's utmost bounds confess their awful sway,
The mountains worship, and the isles obey;
Nor sun nor moon they need—nor day nor night;
God is their temple, and the Lamb their light:
And shall not Israel's sons exulting come,
Hail the glad beam, and claim their ancient home!

On David's throne shall David's offspring reign,
And the dry bones be warmed with life again.
Hark! white-robed crowds their deep “hosannahs" raise,
And the hoarse flood repeats the sound of praise ;
Ten thousand harps attune the mystic song,
Ten thousand thousand saints the strain prolong;

Worthy the Lamb, omnipotent to save,
Who died, who lives, triumphant o’er the grave !”


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BRIGHTEST and best of the sons of the morning,

Dawn on our darkness, and lend us thine aid ! Star of the East, the horizon adorning,

Guide where our infant Redeemer is laid !

Cold on His cradle the dew-drops are shining,

Low lies His bed with the beasts of the stall ! Angels adore Him with slumber reclining,

Maker, and Monarch, and Saviour of all !

Say, shall we yield Him, in costly devotion,

Odours of Edom, and offerings divine ? Gems of the mountain, and pearls of the ocean,

Myrrh from the forest, and gold from the mine?

Vainly we offer each ample oblation,

Vainly with gold would His favour secure; Richer by far is the heart's adoration,

Dearer to God are the prayers of the poor!

Brightest and best of the sons of the morning,

Dawn on our darkness, and lend us thine aid ! Star of the East, the horizon adorning, Guide where our infant Redeemer is laid !



THE Lord shall come! the earth shall quake,
The mountains to their centre shake;
And withering from the vaults of night,
The stars shall pale their feeble light.
The Lord shall come! but not the same
As once in lowliness He came;
A silent Lamb before His foes,
A weary Man, and full of woes!
The Lord shall comel a dreadful form,
With rainbow wreath, and robes of storm;
On cherub wings, and wings of wind,
Appointed Judge of all mankind!
Can this be He, who wont to stray
As pilgrim on the world's highway,
Oppressed by power, and mocked by pride,
The Nazarene—the crucified ?

While sinners in despair shall call,
“ Rocks, hide us ! mountains, on us fall!"
The saints, ascending from the tomb,
Shall joyful sing, “The Lord is come !"
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