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The humble precincts of the blest abode, That formed a temple for the Incarnate God,
And fill'd with holy joy, they meekly laid Their gifts and rich oblations at his feet, And bowed in adoration as they gazed.
AT EVENING TIME IT SHALL BE
Zechariah xiv. 7.
NIGHT spreads her pall o'er wave and bower,
Its gloom enwraps the sunless sky; Stars there are none--this murky hour The storm thick mantles from on high.
Nought but the tempest, reigning wide,
Breaks the dread silence of the night;
And gathering still on every side,
The weary pilgrim through the vale,
While the "gross darkness" veils his eyes.
But see! at length the storm is o'er
"Tis thus, methinks, life's varied way
Still forward lies the course of life,
And still new joys or dangers rise; Discord or peace, or calm, or strife,
Serene, or dark tempestuous skies.
But as his final hour draws near,
Cease to exert their dread controul.
Hope's cheering beam athwart the gloom
Led by the Spirit of his God,
Death's deepest valley looks more bright;
And resting on his word and rod,
Behold!" at evening time 'tis light!"
HAST thou mark'd the rolling wave,
Hast thou seen the trembling ocean,
Seen the bark an instant tost,
Hast thou mark'd the flow'ret fair,
Hast thou look'd down to the west,
Beauteous ocean's bounding shore;
When at evening's solemn close,
And the earth is calm and still,
Look within thy breast, O man!
Of thy daily passions mar
Hast thou mark'd youth's vernal days,
First to wander forth alone,
Proud in boyhood's days far gone?