The courage of Israel's bravest quail'd
At the view of that awful light,
Though knowing the blood of their offering avail'd
To shield them from its might:
They felt 'twas the Spirit of Death had pass'd,
That the brightness they saw his cold glance had cast
On Egypt's land that night.
Wail, King of the Pyramids! Death hath cast
His shafts through thine empire wide,
But o'er Israel in bondage his rage hath pass'd,
No firstborn of hers hath died—
Go, Satrap! command that the captive be free,
Lest their God in fierce anger should smite even thee,
On the crown of thy purple pride.
THE sabbath bell! How solemnly
It summons us to prayer,
Bidding us from the world to flee,
And to God's house repair.
The sabbath bell! How boomingly
It fills the vaulted sky;
Telling each idler on the lea
That thoughtless man must die.
The sabbath bell! How fearfully
It tells the sinner's doom;
When life's vain follies cease to be,
And terror haunts the tomb.
The sabbath bell! How soothingly
It lulls the saint to rest;
And wafts his soul unfetter'd, free,
To mansions of the blest.
The sabbath bell! What melody
It flings adown the breeze,
To him who views God's majesty
Upon the pathless seas;
Reminding him how peacefully
The church-yard path he trod,
As by his sire he bent his knee,
And praised his father's God.
For that rude church, how wistfully
He'll sigh on distant shore,
Once more to see the old yew-tree
And hear its bell once more.
For thee whose thoughts unceasingly
On this soft music dwell,
Trust in the Lord, and soon to thee
Will ring heaven's Sabbath Bell.
SUNDAYS observe, think when the bells do chime,
'Tis angel's music, therefore come not late;
God then deals blessings.
Let vain or busy thoughts have there no part,
Bring not thy plough, thy plots or pleasure—
Christ purged his temple, so must thou thy heart.
LOVE TO THE HOUSE OF GOD.
How did my heart rejoice to hear
My friends devoutly say,
In Sion let us all appear,
And keep the solemn day."
I love her gates, I love the road;
The church adorn'd with grace,
Stands like a palace built for God
To shew his milder face.
Peace be within this sacred place,
And joy a constant guest!
With holy gifts and heavenly grace
Be her attendants blest!
My soul shall pray for Sion still,
While life or breath remains;
There my best friends, my kindred dwell,
There God my Saviour reigns.
PLEASURES are like poppies spread,
You seize the flower, its bloom is shed;
Or like the snow falls in the river,
A moment white-then melts for ever;
Or like the borealis race,
That flit ere you can point their place;
Or like the rainbow's lovely form,
Evanishing amid the storm.
TELL me not in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not as they seem.
Life is real! Life is earnest !
And the grave is not its goal; "Dust thou art, to dust returnest," Was not spoken of the soul.
Not enjoyment and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act that each to-morrow
Find us further than to-day.
Trust no future, howe'er pleasant!
Let the dead past bury its dead!
Act, act in the living present!
Heart within and God o'erhead !
Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And departing leave behind us
Footprints in the sands of time.
Let us then be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labour and to wait.
NECESSITY OF WATCHFULNESS
AGAINST IDOLS.
WHATEVER passes as a cloud between
The mental eye of faith and things unseen,
Causing that brighter world to disappear,
Or seem less lovely and its hopes less dear;
This is our world, our idol, though it bear
Affection's impress or devotion's air.
ALL hail to thee, auspicious year,
With many blessings thou art crown'd;
O may my conduct through each day,
Creator's praise redound.
In years gone by I have been spar'd
From ills that oft my path beset;
May God still prove my strength and shield,
Till I arrive at Zion's gate.
Another year to me is given,
A talent 'tis for me t' improve;
O may I strive with it to gain
A passage fair to realms above.
But hark! methinks I hear a voice!
"Tis conscience speaks, and speaks too true:
It tells I've not in earnest sought
My Lord,-nor kept my end in view.
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