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Ye whales, that in the ocean play,
Or, slumb’ring iu the wat’ry way,
In shoals unnumber'd lie;
Praise him, by whom ye all are fed,
Praise him, without whose heav'nly aid
Ye sicken, faint, and die.
Ye birds, exalt your Maker's name,
Begin, and with the important theme
Your artless lays improve;
Wake with your songs the rising day,
Let music sound from every spray,
And fill the vocal grove.
Praise him, ye beasts, that nightly roam
Amid the solitary gloom,
Th’expected prey to seize;
Ye slaves of the laborious plough,
Your stubborn necks obsequious bow,
And bend your wearied knees.
Ye sons of men, his praise display,
Whose stampt his image on your clay,
And gave it pow'r to move :
Ye that in Judah's confines dwell,
From age to age successive tell
The wonders of his love.
Let Levi's tribe the lay prolong,
Till angels listen to the song,
And bend attentive down ;
Let wonder seize the heavenly train,
Pleas’d while they hear a mortal strain
So sweet, so like their own.
Let those their thankful voices raise,
That oft in Salem's sacred shrine
Before his altar kneel;
Where thron’d in majesty he dwells,
And from the mystic cloud reveals
The dictates of his will.
Ye spirits of the just and good,
That, eager for the blest abode,
To heav'nly mansions soar!
Oh! let your songs his praise display,
"Till heav'n itself shall melt away,
And time shall be no more.
Praise him, ye meek and humble train,
Ye saints, whom his decrees ordain
The boundless bliss to share:
Oh! praise him, till you take your way
To regions of eternal day,
And reign for ever there.
Let us, who now impassive stand,
Plac'd by the tyrant's stern command,
Amid the fiery blaze,
While thus we triumph in the flame,
Rise, and our Maker's love proclaim
In hymns of endless praise.
On the Death of the LADY CHARLOTTE SEYMOUR, only Daughter of the late Marquis Cholmondeley, and Widow of Colonel Hugh Seymour, M. P. for Antrim.
[BY MRS. OPIE.] Oh! lov'd and lost, thy widow'd mother's pride, Whose sweet consoler in her Charlotte died ; Thou, whom the tenderest brothers tried to save, Alas! in vain, from an untimely grave: Oft bave I mark'd, within the world's gay scene, Thy graceful person and thy modest mien; And what its eager votaries blessings callBirth, honours, loveliness,-thou hadst them all : While form’d still more in private life to shine, The spirit pure, the generous heart, were thine. Next, every other blessing far above, Thine was the meed of tender wedded love; Oh! state of happiness so vast, so dear, It might have made thee deem thy heaven was hereMade thee forget an holier home on high, And on the creature fix too fond an eye. But He, the merciful, who joys to save, Plung'd thy meek head in sorrow's deepest wave; Then, as thy lip all murmuring still forbore, Because “ He did it,' snatch'd thee to the shore ; And, while with widow'd grief thy heart was riven, Replac'd thy earthly love with love of Heaven. Blest, bounteous proof of mercy and of grace! For soon how chang'd appeared that youthful face ! Decay's pale rose there oped its tell-tale bloomThat beauteous harbinger of coming doom, The flower that blossoms only near the tomb. Soon thy mild eye appear'd too clearly bright, Or faintly beam'd with wan phosphoric light,
Till through the sleepless night and restless day,
On thy sick couch thy form exhausted lay:
But He, who sav'd thee from the whelming tide,
When thy heart's joy, thy gallant Seymour died-
He, who had turn'd thy feet to Zion's hill-
Thy guide, thy teacher, He was near thee still :
Thy faith grew stronger as life's vigour fled,
And brightest visions cheer'd thy dying bed.
Oh! precious faith which taught thee to impart
Words of sweet comfort to thy mother's heart;
And, while beside thy couch they vigils kept,
Made thy lov'd brothers thankful while they wept;
Thankful that, rais'd all human ties above,
E’en the dear pledge of a lost husband's love,
To Heav'n alone thy closing eyes were turn'd,
For Heaven alone thy grateful bosom burn'd;
Eager the Saviour long-desir'd to meet,
And cast thy crowns' at thy Redeemer's feet!
Mourners, who caught your Charlotte's parting breath,
And saw how Christians triumph over death ;
Well might your lips, e’en ʼmidst your grief's excess,
Thus o'er her corse your thankfulness express :
• Redeeming Lord! to those who die in thee,
Death bas indeed no sting, the grave no victory!'
When first thine eyes unveil, give thy soul leave
To do the like; our bodies but forerun
The spirit's duty: true hearts spread and heave
Unto their God as flowers do to the sun;
Give him thy first thought then, so shalt thou keep
Him company all day, and in him sleep.
Yet never sleep the sun up; prayer should
Dawn with the day : there are set awful hours
'Twixt heaven and us; the manna was not good
After sun rising; far day sullies flowers :
Rise to prevent the sun; sleep doth sins glut,
And heaven's gate opens when the world's is shut.
Walk with thy fellow-creatures : note the hush
And whisperings amongst them. Not a spring
Or leaf but hath his morning hymn; each bush
And oak doth know I AM.-Canst thou not sing?
O leave thy cares and follies ! go
And thou art sure to prosper all the day.
Serve God before the world; let him not go,
Until thou hast a blessing ; then resign
The whole unto him, and remember who
Prevailed by wrestling ere the sun did shine :
upon the stones, weep for thy sin,
Then journey on, and have an eye to heaven.
Mornings are mysteries: the first, world's youth,
Man's resurrection, and the future's bud,
Shrowd in their births; the crown of life, light, truth,
Is styled their star; the stone and hidden food :
Three blessings wait upon them, one of which
Should move-they make us holy, happy, rich.
When the world's
every swarm abroad,
Keep well thy temper, mix not with each day :
Dispatch necessities, life hath a load
Which must be carried on, and safely may;
Yet keep those cares without thee ; let the heart
Be God's alone, and choose the better part.