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Though he rose in a mist when his race he begun,

And there followed some droppings of rain i
But now the fair Traveller's come to the west,
His rays are all gold, and his beauties are best;
He paints the sky gay as he sinks to his rest,

And foretells a bright rising again.
2 Just such is the Christian :* his course he begins

Like the sun in a mist, when he mourns for his sins
And melts into tears; then he breaks out and shines,

And travels his heavenly way;
But, when he comes nearer to finish his race,
Like a fine setting sun, he looks richer in grace,
And gives a sure hope at the end of his days,
Of rising in brighter array.



Our Destiny.
(C. M.) TUNE_" Naomi." " Acushnet."
1 Sweet Day, so cool, so calm, so bright ;

Bridal of earth and sky !
The dews shall weep thy fall to-night;

For thou, alas! must die.

2 Sweet Rose, in air whose odors wave,

And color charms the eye!
Thy root is ever in its grave,

And thou, alas ! must die.

3 Sweet Spring, of days and roses made,

Whose charms for beauty vie !
Thy days depart, thy roses fade,

Thou too, alas! must die.

* Vide Prov. iv. 18.

2 When gathering shades the landscape veil,

And peasants seek their village-dale,
And mists from river-wave arise,

And dew in every blossom lies;
3 At that calm hour, so still, so pale,

Awakes the lonely nightingale;
And from a hermitage of shade,

Fills with her voice the forest-glade.
4 Father in heaven! oh! thus, when day

With all its cares bath passed away,
And silent hours waft peace on earth,

And hush the louder strains of mirth;
5 Thus may sweet songs of praise and prayer,

To Thee my spirit's offering bear;
Yon star, my signal, set on high,

For vesper-hymns of piety.
6 So may Thy mercy and Thy power,
Protect me through the midnight hour;
And balmy sleep and visions blest
Smile on Thy servants bed of rest.


The Autumn Evening.
(C. M.) TUNE_" Clarendon.” Phillips."
1 BEHOLD the western evening light!

It melts in deepening gloom;
So calmly Christians sink away,

Descending to the tomb.
2 The winds breathe 'low, the withering leaf

Scarce whispers from the tree;
So gently flows the parting breath,
When good men cease to be.

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