EVENING HYMN.
ALL praise to thee, my God, this night,
For all the blessings of the light;
Keep me, oh keep me, King of kings,
Beneath thy own almighty wings!
Forgive me, Lord, for thy dear Son,
The ill that I this day have done;
That with the world, myself, and thee,
I, ere I sleep, at peace may be.
Teach me to live, that I may dread
The grave as little as my bed;
To die, that this vile body may
Rise glorious at the judgment-day.
Oh may my soul on thee repose,
And may sweet sleep mine eyelids close!—
Sleep, that may me more vig'rous make
To serve my God when I awake.
When in the night I sleepless lie,
My soul with heavenly thoughts supply;
Let no ill dreams disturb my rest,
No powers of darkness me molest.
Dull sleep!-of sense me to deprive;
I am but half my time alive;
Thy faithful lovers, Lord, are grieved,
To lie so long of thee bereaved.
But though sleep o'er my frailty reigns,
Let it not hold me long in chains;
And now and then let loose my heart,
Till it an hallelujah dart.
The faster sleep the senses binds,
The more unfettered are our minds;
Oh may my soul, from matter free,
Thy loveliness unclouded see!
Oh when shall I, in endless day,
For ever chase dark sleep away:
And hymns with the supernal choir
Incessant sing, and never tire?
Oh may my guardian, while I sleep,
Close to my bed his vigils keep;
His love angelical instil,
Stop all the avenues of ill.
-THOMAS KEN.
O THOU whose care sustained my infant years,
And taught my prattling lip each note of love;
Whose soothing voice breathed comfort to my fears,
And round my brow hope's brightest garland wove;
To thee my lay is due, the simple song,
Which Nature gave me at life's opening day;
To thee these rude, these untaught strains belong,
Whose heart indulgent will not spurn my lay.
O say, amid this wilderness of life,
What bosom would have throbbed like thine for me? Who would have smiled responsive? who in grief Would e'er have felt, and, feeling, grieve like thee?
Who would have guarded, with a falcon eye,
Each trembling footstep, or each sport of fear?
Who would have marked my bosom bounding high,
And clasped me to her heart with love's bright tear?
Who would have hung around my sleepless couch,
And fanned with anxious hand my burning brow?
Who would have fondly pressed my fevered lip
In all the agony of love and wo?
None but a mother-none but one like thee,
Whose bloom has faded in the midnight watch,
Whose eye, for me, has lost its witchery,
Whose form has felt disease's mildew touch.
Yes, thou hast lighted me to health and life
By the bright lustre of thy youthful bloom;
Yes, thou hast wept so oft o'er every grief,
That wo hath traced thy brow with marks of gloom.
O then, to thee, this rude and simple song,
Which breathes of thankfulness and love for thee,
To thee, my mother, shall this lay belong,
Whose life is spent in toil and care for me.
Ur, sleeper! dreamer! up; for now
There's gold upon the mountain's brow-
There's light on forests, lakes, and meadows—
The dew-drops shine on flow'ret bells,
The village clock of morning tells.
Up, men! out, cattle! for the dells
And dingles teem with shadows.
very beast that crops the flower Hath welcome for the dawning hour.
Aurora smiles! her beckonings claim thee; Listen-look round-the chirp, the hum, Song, low, and bleat-there's nothing dumbAll love, all life. Come, slumberers, come! The meanest thing shall shame thee.
We come—we come—our wanderings take
Through dewy field, by misty lake
And rugged paths, and woods pervaded,
By branches o'er, by flowers beneath,
Making earth od'rous with their breath;
Or through the shadeless gold-gorze heath,
Or 'neath the poplars shaded.
Oh happy, who the city's noise
Can quit for nature's quiet joys,
Quit worldly sin and worldly sorrow;
No more 'midst prison-walls abide,
But in God's temple, vast and wide,
Pour praises every eventide,
Ask mercies every morrow.
No seraph's flaming sword hath driven
That man from Eden or from heaven,
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