Awhile I kept, with watchful heed,
My task of duty and of pleasure;
Exact, at noon and eve, to feed
That holy flame, with ample measure;
Those smiling walks, and various flowers,
Each day I hail'd with bosom fonder,
Nor e'er beyond those happy bowers,
Indulg'd the idle thought to wander.
MORNING HYMN.
HUES of the rich unfolding morn,
That, ere the glorious sun be born,
By some soft touch invisible
Around his path are taught to swell;
Thou rustling breeze, so fresh and gay,
That dancest forth at op'ning day,
And brushing by, with joyous wing,
Wakenest each little leaf to sing;-
Ye fragrant clouds of dewy steam,
By which deep grove and tangled stream
Pay, for short rains in season given,
Their tribute to the genial Heaven,
Why waste your treasures of delight
Upon our thankless, joyless sight;
Who day by day to sin awake,
Seldom of heaven and you partake?
Oh! timely happy, timely wise,
Hearts that with rising morn arise!
Eyes that the beam celestial view,
Which evermore makes all things new!
New every morning is the love
Our wakening and uprising prove;
Through sleep and darkness safely brought,
Restor❜d to life, and power, and thought.
New mercies, each returning day,
Hover around us while we pray;
New perils past, new sins forgiven,
New thoughts of God, new hopes of Heaven.
If on our daily course our mind
Be set to hallow all we find,
New treasures still, of countless price,
God will provide for sacrifice.
Old friends, old scenes, will lovelier be,
As more of heaven in each we sce:
Some softening gleam of love and prayer
Shall dawn on every cross and care.
As for some dear familiar strain
Untir'd we ask, and ask again,
Ever, in its melodious store,
Finding a spell unheard before;
Such is the bliss of souls screne,
When they have sworn, and steadfast mean,
Counting the cost, in all t' espy
Their God, in all themselves deny.
Oh, could we learn that sacrifice,
What lights would all around us rise! How would our hearts with wisdom talk, Along life's dullest, dreariest walk!
We need not bid, for cloister'd cell,
Our neighbour and our work farewell;
Nor strive to wind ourselves too high,
For sinful man beneath the sky.
The trivial round, the common task,
Would furnish all we ought to ask;
Room to deny ourselves; a road
To bring us, daily, nearer God.
Seek we no more; content with these,
Let present rapture, comfort, ease,
As heaven shall bid them, come and go :-
The secret this of rest below.
Only, O Lord, in thy dear love,
Fit us for perfect rest above.
And help us, this and every day,
To live more nearly as we pray.
'Tis gone, that bright and orbed blaze,
Fast fading from our wistful gaze:
Yon mantling cloud has hid from sight
The last faint pulse of quivering light.
In darkness and in weariness,
The traveller on his way must press;
No gleam to watch on tree or tower,
Whistling away the lonesome hour.
Sun of my soul! Thou Saviour dear,
It is not night if thou be near:
Oh, may no earth-born cloud arise,
To hide thee from thy servant's eyes.
When round thy wondrous works below,
My searching rapture's glance I throw,
Tracing out wisdom, power, and love
In earth or sky, in stream or grove;—
Or by the light thy words disclose
Watch time's full river as it flows,
Scanning thy gracious Providence,
Were not too deep for mortal sense ;-
When with dear friends sweet talk I hold,
And all the flowers of life unfold;-
Let not my heart within me burn,
Except in all I Thee discern.
When the soft dews of kindly sleep,
My wearied eyelids gently steep,
Be my last thought, how sweet to rest
For ever on my Saviour's breast.
Abide with me from morn till eve,
For without Thee I cannot live:
Abide with me when night is nigh,
For without Thee I dare not die.
If some poor wandering child of thine
Have spurned, to-day, the voice divine;
Now, Lord, the gracious work begin,
Let him no more lie down in sin.
Watch by the sick; enrich the poor
With blessings from thy boundless store:
Be every mourner's sleep to-night
Like infant's slumbers, pure and light.
and bless us when we wake,
Ere through the world our way we take;
Till in the ocean of thy love
We lose ourselves in heaven above.
"Consider the lilies of the field how they grow."-MATTHEW, vi. 28.
SWEET nurslings of the vernal skies,
Bathed in soft airs, and fed with dew,
What more than magic in you lies
To fill the heart's fond view?
In childhood's sports companions gay,
In sorrow, on life's downward way,
How soothing! in our last decay,
Memorials prompt and true.
Relics ye are of Eden's bowers,
As pure, as fragrant, and as fair,
As when ye crown'd the sunshine hours
Of happy wanderers there.
Fall'n all beside the world of life,
How is it stain'd with fear and strife!
In reason's world what storms are rife,
What passions rage and glare!
But cheerful and unchanged the while
Your first and perfect form ye show,
The same that won Eve's matron smile
In the world's opening glow.
The stars of heaven a course are taught
Too high above our human thought;-
Ye may be found if ye are sought,
And as we gaze we know.
Ye dwell beside our paths and homes,
Our paths of sin, our homes of sorrow,
And guilty man, where'er he roams,
Your innocent mirth may borrow.
The birds of air before us fleet,
They cannot brook our shame to meet-
But we may taste your solace sweet,
And come again to-morrow.
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