3 I'll read the histories of thy love
And keep thy laws in sight,
While thro' thy promises I rove
With ever fresh delight.
4 'Tis a broad road of wealth unknown
Where springs of life arise,
Seeds of immortal bliss are sown
And hidden glory lies.
5 The best relief that mourners have,
It makes our sorrows blest,
Our fairest hope beyond the grave
And our eternal rest.
Address to Christians.
H send this sacred book where'er
Or winds can waft, or waves can bear,Wherever man is found.
Let India's sons its page revere,
Let Afric's land the blessing share,
Where England's power once caused despair,
Let England's mercy, chiefly there -
And England's love abound.
Send it to where, expanded wide
The South sea rolls its peaceful tide
Round inany a distant island's side,
Long wrapp'd in error's shade.
Where scattered far from Sion's hill
And Jordan's bank and Siloa's rill,
By foreign lords subjected still,
To Judah be repaid
Her prophets' and apostles' boon ;--
Their blessing to mankind!
Where the lost tribes of Israel mourn
The promise tell of swift return
To all of Abra'm seed.--
This book shall turn each wanderer's eye
To Him who did for sinners die!
And now ascended, lives on high
For sinners still to plead.
Oh! send to every dungeon's gloom.
This messenger of peace:
Send it to every sick man's room,
His soul to cheer, his mind illume,
To teach him how to meet his doom
And find a place beyond the tomb,
Where flowers of joy eternal bloom,
And ills for ever cease!
Nor cease the woe worn to befriend,
Nor cease the heavenly gift to send,
Till error's cloud away be roll'd
And every hand the treasure hold;
And every suffering child of woe,
Its truths believe, its comforts know,
And sin and sorrow hence be driven,
And earth be chang'd from earth to heaven!
Iceland's address to the British and Foreign Bibl
Society. Imitated from the Icelandic.
OCIETY of Christ! whose fame
The world shall raise o'er thy compeer
Thou most deserving of such name,
Or in the past or present years---
Thy beam has shone, more lovely bright
Than solar blaze, or lunar ray
Has shone, when all around was night;
And bade the darkness pass away.
2 When they, our unbelieving foes
Would crush the hopes they could not feel,
You, sons of England! then arose
With hearts all love, and hands all zeal;
You, bound by charity's blest tie,
And fearless in defence of truth,
Spent in our aid unsparingly
Riches and power--and youth and age.
$ And what! tho' near the Arctic pole
And like a heap of drifted snow
The chiling north winds round me roll,
The land of ice---call'd rightly so,
Tho' circled by the frigid zone,
An island in a frozen sea,
Yet I this charity have known,
This Christian zeal has glowed for me.
4 For see! the messengers of peace!
From Albion new apostles come:
They, like the old, shall never cease
To quit their kindred and their home.
Like them with canvass wide unfurl'd
Careless of life they tempt the gale,
And seek the limits of the world.-
Ye friends to God and Iceland, hail!
5 One visits me!-Thou great first cause
Enthroned in majesty above;
'Tis here I recognise thy laws,
And feel how mindful is thy love.
And shall I when thou deign'st to bless,
Forgetful sleep the years away;
And sink in torpid listlessness,
Nor strike the lyre, nor raise the lay?
• Th' unfeeling heart, the sordid hand
Would mourn, perchance, the vast expence,
With which on earth's remotest land
You spread the gifts of Providence.
The treasures of the world sublime
Go forth, where'er your banners wave,
In ev'ry language, ev'ry clime
The mind to form, the soul to save.
7 What then can merit more of praise,
The mortal and immortal crown;
What better shall your honors raise,
And call the tide of blessings down;
Than pouring thro' this world of strife
The healing balm of sacred lore,
And minist ring that bread of life
Which, tasted once, man wants no more.
8 Yet, what yourardent breasts could lead?
These gifts to spread, these toils to dare?
Could hopes of gain impel the deed?
Could thoughts of avarice be there?
No:-'twas the love of Him on high,
The safety of the poor on earth,
Hence rose your sun of charity,
Hence has your star of glory birth.
9 Society of Christ! most dear
To heaven, to virtue, and to me;
For ever lives thy memory here;
While Iceland is-thy fame shall be.
The triumphs of the great and brave,
The trophies of the conquer'd field-
These cannot bloom beyond the grave,
To thee their honors all shall yield.
10 Thy faine far more than earth can give,
Shall soar with daring wing sublime;
And wide, and still more wide, survive
The crush of worlds, the wreck of time.-
Thus Thule and her sons employ
Their harps to pour the grateful song;
And long thy gifts may we enjoy,
And pour this grateful tribute long.
11 Aged and clad in snow white pall,
I twine the wreath, and twine for thee;
Tho' mingled howls in Thule's hall,
The north wind with our minstrelsy.
These strains, tho' rigid as the clime,
Rude as the rocks--Oh! scorn not thou!
These strains in Thule's elder time
Kings have received--receive them now.
12 Yet not the harp and not the lay
Can give the praise and blessing due;
May He whom heav'n and earth obey,
Ye Christian Fathers, prosper you!
May he--if prayers can aught avail---
No joys in life or death deny;
Crown you with fame that shall not fail
With happiness that cannot die.
HYMNS AND POEMS ON ISRAEL.
1. [Zion Chapel. P. M. Psalm 137.
BY the river's verdant side,
By the solitary tide,
While the peaceful waters slept
Pensively we sat and wept :
And on the bending willows hung
Our silent harps thro' grief unstrung.
2 For they who wasted Zion's bowers
And laid in dust her ruin'd towers,---
In scorn their weary slaves desire
To strike the chords of Israel's lyre;
And in their impious ears to sing
The sacred songs of Zion's king.
3 How shall we tune those lofty strains
On Babylon's polluted plains?
When low in ruin on the earth
Lies the place that gave us birth,
And stern destruction's iron hand
Sways our desolated land?
4 Oh! never shall our harps awake,
Laid in the dust for Zion's sake,
For ever on the willows hung,
Their music hush'd, their chords unstrung,
Lost Zion! city of our God!
While groaning 'neath the tyrant's rod,
5 Still mould'ring lie thy levell'd walls,
And ruin stalks along thy halls,
And brooding o'er thy fall'n tow'rs
Desolation sternly low'rs ;---
For when we muse upon thy woe
Fast the gushing sorrows flow.
6 And while we toil through wretched life Drinking the bitter cup of strife,--
Until we yield our weary breath
And sleep, releas'd from woe in death,--
|