Ye were scattered abroad by Him whose hand
My own existence gave;
Ye have lived a life of meek content,
Nor when the tempest wave
Of storm and whirlwind fiercely blew,
Did ye swerve from your humble meekness true.
Ye have drunk in the dews of Heaven's gift,
And gloried in his light;
Ye have greeted the blush of the early dawn,
And bowed to the cooling night,
Ye have given a charm to the dewy grass,
And scented the air for all who pass.
And thus ye fulfilled your destiny,
Ye dead and faded flowers;
Ye bloomed and shone unseeking reward,
Ye smiled through mournful hours: Oh may I, with chastened heart and will, My course of duty as well fulfil.
Where worldly ambition but finds a grave,
Hope rests on its downy pillow
As the Petrel sleeps on the ocean wave,
While tosses the raging billow.
The blast is loud, and the night is dark,
And chill are the restless surges,
Yet the christian floats on his lowly bark,
As buoyant his spirit emerges.
Earth weighs not down his elastic wing
That aspiring to heaven uprises;
His sorrows are joys, and his winter is spring,
And all life's blanks are prizes.
He is caged on the earth, but he treads not its sod,
He spurns its confined dominions;
His soul is ethereal-he dwells with his God;
Heaven-plumed are his joyful pinions.
Go, sacred page! replete with grace and truth,
The staff of age, the guide of erring youth,
Go, where the heathen grope in shades of night,
Without one cheering ray of Heavenly light ;
Where widows on the pile exhaust their breath,
And Juggernaut's fell victims gasp in death;
Where cruel rites in all their horror reign,
And superstition binds its galling chain.
Great be thy conquests, great by Heaven decreed,
Through His rich blood, who did on Calvary bleed.
Great be the number of the ransom'd host,
Saved by His grace who came to seek the lost.
Shout, shout His praise the vaults of Heaven among,
In one harmonious, everlasting song:
Lord God Omnipotent, for ever reign,
When suns and stars shall set, and moons shall wane;
Earth join the chorus, and increase the strain,
Praise to the Lamb, the Lamb for sinners slain.
Where worldly ambition but finds a grave,
Hope rests on its downy pillow
As the Petrel sleeps on the ocean wave,
While tosses the raging billow.
The blast is loud, and the night is dark,
And chill are the restless surges,
Yet the christian floats on his lowly bark,
As buoyant his spirit emerges.
Earth weighs not down his elastic wing
That aspiring to heaven uprises;
His sorrows are joys, and his winter is spring,
And all life's blanks are prizes.
He is caged on the earth, but he treads not its sod,
He spurns its confined dominions;
His soul is ethereal-he dwells with his God;
Heaven-plumed are his joyful pinions.
Go, sacred page! replete with grace and truth,
The staff of age, the guide of erring youth,
Go, where the heathen grope in shades of night,
Without one cheering ray of Heavenly light;
Where widows on the pile exhaust their breath,
And Juggernaut's fell victims gasp in death;
Where cruel rites in all their horror reign,
And superstition binds its galling chain.
Great be thy conquests, great by Heaven decreed,
Through His rich blood, who did on Calvary bleed.
Great be the number of the ransom'd host,
Saved by His grace who came to seek the lost.
Shout, shout His praise the vaults of Heaven among,
In one harmonious, everlasting song:
Lord God Omnipotent, for ever reign,
When suns and stars shall set, and moons shall wane ;
Earth join the chorus, and increase the strain,
Praise to the Lamb, the Lamb for sinners slain.
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