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His compassions fail not; they are new every morning.
Lament. iii. 22, 23.
HUES of the rich unfolding morn,
That, ere the glorious sun be born,
Around his path are taught to swell ;
Thou rustling breeze so fresh and
Ye fragrant clouds of dewy steam,
Their tribute to the genial heaven ;
Why waste your treasures of delight
Oh! timely happy, timely wise,
Eyes that the beam celestial view,
Which evermore makes all things new!
New every morning is the love
Our wakening and uprising prove;
Through sleep and darkness safely brought, Restored to life, and power, and thought.
New mercies, each returning day,
New perils past, new sins forgiven,
New thoughts of God, new hopes of heaven.
If on our daily course our mind
Be set to hallow all we find,
New treasures still, of countless price,
God will provide for sacrifice.
a Revelations xxi. 5.
Old friends, old scenes, will lovelier be,
As more of heaven in each we see :
Some softening gleam of love and prayer Shall dawn on every cross and care.
As for some dear familiar strain
Such is the bliss of souls serene,
O could we learn that sacrifice,
What lights would all around us rise!
We need not bid, for cloister'd cell,
The trivial round, the common task,
Seek we no more; content with these,
Only, O Lord, in thy dear love