Proclaim the glories of your Lord, Dispers'd through all the heavenly street, Whose boundless treasures can afford So rich a pavement for his feet. Thou Heav'n of heavens, supremely bright, The Godhead condescends to shine. Praise thou thy great Inhabitant, Who scatters lovely beams of grace On every angel, every saint, Nor veils the lustre of his face. O God of glory, God of love, Thou art the Sun that makes our days: With all thy shining works above, Let earth and dust attempt thy praise. THE WELCOME MESSENGER. LORD, when we see a saint of thine How we could e'en contend to lay Our souls are rising on the wing, To venture in his place; For when grim death has lost his sting, He has an angel's face. Jesus, then purge my crimes away, 'Tis guilt creates my fears, 'Tis guilt gives death its fierce array, And all the arms it bears. Oh! if my threatening sins were gone, I could invite the angel on, Away these interposing days, I'd leap at once my seventy years, And lose my breath, and all my cares, Joyful I'd lay this body down, G2 SINCERE PRAISE. ALMIGHTY Maker, God! How wondrous is thy name! Thy glories how diffus'd abroad Through the creation's frame! Nature in every dress Her humble homage pays, And finds a thousand ways to' express In native white and red The rose and lily stand, And free from pride their beauties spread, To show thy skilful hand. The lark mounts up the sky And bears her Maker's praise on high Upon her artless tongue. My soul would rise and sing To her Creator too, Fain would my tongue adore my King, And pay the worship due. But pride, that busy sin, Spoils all that I perform; Curs'd pride, that creeps securely in, And swells a haughty worm. Thy glories I abate, Or praise thee with design; Some of thy favours I forget, Or think the merit mine. The very songs I frame, Are faithless to thy cause, And steal the honours of thy name Create my soul anew, Else all my worship's vain; This wretched heart will ne'er be true, Until 'tis form'd again. Descend, celestial fire, And seize me from above, Melt me in flames of pure desire, A sacrifice to love. Let joy and worship spend The remnant of my days, And to my God, my soul, ascend, TRUE LEARNING. PARTLY IMITATED FROM A FRENCH SONNET OF HAPPY the feet that shining Truth has led All beauty, and all light, as in herself she is. Our senses cheat us with the pressing crowds On unenlighten'd souls, and leave them doubly blind. I hate the dust that fierce disputers raise, [not. To fence and guard by rule and rote ! Our God will never charge us, that we knew them Touch, heavenly Word, O touch these curious souls; Since I have heard but one soft hint from thee, From all the vain opinions of the schools (That pageantry of knowing fools) I feel my powers releas'd, and stand divinely free. 'Twas this Almighty Word that all things made, The ground of all things, and their head, [stand. The circle where they move, and centre where they |