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4 That prize with peerless glories bright,

Which shall new lustre boast,
When victors' wreaths and monarchs' gems,

Must blend in common dust.


L. M.



soul! lift


eyes ;
See where thy foes against thee rise,
In long array a numerous host;
Awake, my soul ! or thou art lost.

2 Here giant danger threatening stands,

Mustering his pale, terriffic bands ;
There pleasure's silken banners spread,

And willing souls are captive led.
3 See where rebellious passions rage,
And fierce desires and lusts

engage; The meanest foe of all the train

Has thousands and ten thousands slain. 4 Thou tread'st upon enchanted ground;

Deceitful snares beset thee round;
Beware of all; guard every part;
But most the traitor in thy heart.


C. P. M.


1 Be it my only wisdom here,
To serve the Lord with filial fear,

With loving gratitude :
Superior strength may { display,
By shunning every evil way,

And walking in the good.

2 O may I still from sin depart;
A wise and understanding heart,

Father, to me be given ;
And let me through thy Spirit know
To glorify my God below,

And find my way to heaven.


P. M. TICKNOR'S COL. 1 This world is not a fleeting show,

For man's illusion given;
He that hath soothed a widow's woe,
Or wiped an orphan's tear, doth know,

There's something here of heaven. 2 And he who walks life's thorny way,

With feelings calm and even,
Whose path is lit, from day to day,
By virtue's bright and steady ray,

Feels something here of heaven.
3 He who the Christian course hath run,

And all his foes forgiven,
Hath measured out this life's short span,
In love to God and love to man,

On earth has tasted heaven.


L. M.

W o'rton. 1 How happy is he born or taught,

Who serveth not another's will;
Whose armor is his honest thought,

And simple truth his highest skill : 2 Whose passions not his masters are :

Whose soul is still prepared for death ;
Not tied unto the world with care
Of prince's ear or vulgar breath :

3 Who God doth late and early pray

More of his grace than goods to lend,
And walks with man from day to day,
As with a brother and a friend.


C. M. TATE AND BRADY. 1 LORD, who's the happy man, that may

To thy blest courts repair ;
Not stranger-like, to visit them,

But to inhabit there?
2 'Tis he whose every thought and deed,

By rules of virtue moves;
Whose generous tongue disdains to speak

The thing his heart disproves. 3 Who never did a slander forge,

His neighbor's fame to wound,
Nor hearken to a false report,

By malice whispered round.
4 Who vice, in all its pomp and power,

Can treat with just neglect ;
And piety, though clothed in rags,

Religiously respect.
5 Who to his plighted vows and trust,

Has ever firmly stood;
And though he promise to his loss,

Yet makes his promise good.


C. M.

BEDDOME. 1 Am I an Israelite indeed,

Without a false disguise ?
Have I renounced my sins, and left

My refuges of lies?

2 Say, does my heart unchanged remain,

Or is it formed anew ?
What is the rule by which I walk,

The object I pursue ?
3 Cause me, O God of truth and grace,

My real state to know ;
If I am wrong, O set me right ;

If right, preserve me so.


C. M.

Roscoe. 1 This is the first and great command

To love thy God above;
And this the second—as thyself

Thy neighbor thou shalt love.
2 Who is my neighbor ? He who wants

The help which thou canst give;
And both the law and prophets say,

This do, and thou shalt live.


L. M.

DRUMMOND. 1 As body when the soul has fled,

As barren trees, decayed and dead,
Is faith ; a hopeless, lifeless thing,

If not of righteous deeds the spring. 2 One cup of healing oil and wine,

One tear-drop shed on mercy's shrine,
Is thrice more grateful, Lord, to thee,

Than lifted eye or bended knee. 3 To doers only of the word,

Propitious is the righteous Lord;
He hears their cries, accepts their prayers,
Binds up their wound's, and soothes their



L. M.


1 Had I the tongues of Greeks and Jews,

And nobler speech than angels use,
If love be absent, I am found,

Like tinkling brass, an empty sound. 2 Were I inspired to preach and tell

All that is done in heaven and hell ;
Or could my faith the world remove,

Still, I am nothing without love. 3 Should I distribute all my store,

To feed the cravings of the poor ;
Or give my body to the flame,

To gain a martyr's glorious name; 4 If love to God and love to men

Be absent, all my hopes are vain :
Nor tongues, nor gifts, nor fiery zeal,
The works of love can e'er fulfil.


7 M.
1 LORD, what offering shall we bring,

At thine altar when we bow ?
Hearts, the pure unsullied spring,
Whence the kind affections flow;
Soft compassion's feeling soul,
By the melting eye expressed ;
Sympathy, at whose control,

Sorrow leaves the wounded breast; 2 Willing hands to lead the blind,

Bind the wounded, feed the poor ;
Love embracing all our kind,
Charity with liberal store :

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