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My course is run, my errand done-
And in the caves of vengeance wait,
AN ADDRESS TO THE DEITY.
God of my life, and author of my days!
All Nature faints beneath the mighty name
At thy felt presence all emotions cease,
And one vast object fills my aching sight.
But soon alas! this holy calm is broke; My soul submits to wear her wonted yoke ; With shackled pinions strive to soar in vain, And mingles with the dross of earth again. But He, our gracious Master, kind as just, Knowing our frame, remembers man is dust. His spirit ever brooding o'er our mind, Sees the first wish to better hopes inclined Marks the young dawn of every virtuous aim, And fans the smoking flax into a flame. His ears are open to the softest cry, His grace descends to meet the lifted eye; He reads the language of a silent tear, And sighs are incense from a heart sincere. Such are the vows, the sacrifice I give, Accept the vow, and bid the suppliant live; From each terrestrial bondage set me free; Still every wish that centres not in thee; Bid my fond hopes, my vain disquiets cease, And point my path to everlasting peace.
If the soft hand of winning pleasure leads By living waters, and through flowery meads, When all is smiling, tranquil, and serene, And vernal beauty paints the flattering scene, Oh! teach me to elude each latent snare, And whisper to my sliding heart-Beware. With caution let me hear the Syren's voice, And doubtful, with a trembling heart rejoice. If friendless in a vale of tears I stray,
Where briars wound, and thorns perplex my way,
And with strong confidence lay hold on thee;
I read his awful name emblazoned high
Wrought in each flower, inscribed on every tree: every leaf that trembles to the breeze
I hear the voice of God among the trees;
Thy hopes shall animate my drooping soul,
And having lived to thee in thee to die.
ON THE PARTING OF THREE FRIENDS.
In parting, perhaps we are breaking a link
Which will ne'er be united again!
And firm as that chain is-'tis painful to think
Oh when shall we meet ?—perhaps not until time
Oh where-in some strange, and some far distant clime,
When together we dwell, and together decay,
But oh! it is mournful-to meet and to say,
We may meet in sorrow-or sickness-or pain,
Perhaps in some populous haunt we may meet,
And oh we may meet, when our hearts are less warm, Have been chilled by adversity's blast!
But cold though they be, an invincible charm
Must hallow the scenes that are past.