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Withheld the fuel from the fire,
And crossed each foolish, fond desire ?
How oft didst Thou my soul withhold,

And baffle my pursuit of fame,
And mortify my lust of gold,

And blast me in my surest aim;
Withdraw my animal delight,
And starve iny grovelling appetite!
The woulist not let Thy captive go,

Orlemre me to my carnal will;
The Here forbed my rest below,

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When they come, they come in flocks,

As, on glancing feather, Startled birds rise one by one,

In autumnal weather, Waking one another up

From the sheltering heather. Some so merry that I laugh,

Some are grave and serious, Some so trite, their least approach

Is enough to weary us:
Others flit like midnight ghosts,

Shrouded and mysterious.
There are thoughts that o'er me steal,

Like the day when dawning;
Great thoughts wing'd with melody,

Common utterance scorning,
Moving in an inward tune,

And an inward morning.
Some have dark and drooping wings,

Children all of sorrow;
Some are as gay, as if to-day

Could see no cloudy morrow,
And yet like light and shade they each

Must from the other borrow.
One by one they come to me

On their destined mission; One by one I see them fade

With no hopeless vision; For they've led me on a step

To their home Elysian. C. P. CRANCH.

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kailto the Bay, II.1.1.c. to the day, wnicú Ht, who made the

heaven, Earth, and their armies, sanctified and blest,

Perpetuai memory of the Maker's rest! liaal to the lay, when He, by whom was given Wew life to man, the tomb asunder riven,

Arose! That day his Chureh doth still confess,

Lt once Creation's and Redemption's feast, Sign o' a worid called forth, a world forgiven. Welcome that day, the day of holy peace,

The Lord's own day! to man's Creator owed, Ind man's Redeemer; for the soui's increase

In sanctity, and sweet repose bestowed ; Type of the rest when sin and care shaii cease, The rest remaining for the loved of God!

BISHOP VANT.

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Hymn on the Seasons THESE, as they change, Almighty Father, these, Arethe varied God. The rolling year

The Forth in the pleasing Spring!

walks, Thy tenderness and love. mesfields the softening sir is balm, the round; the forest smiles;

and every heart is joy

retory in the Summer months li bisteat refulgent. Then thy sam

Shoots full perfection through the swelling year:
And oft thy voice in dreadful thunder speaks,
And oft at dawn, deep noon, or falling eve,
By brooks and groves, and hollow whisp'ring

gales.
Thy bounty shines in Autumn unconfin'd,
And spreads a common feast for all that lives.
In Winter awful Thou! with clouds and storms
Around Thee thrown, tempest o'er tempest rollid,
Majestic darkness ! On the whirlwind's wing,
Riding sublime, Thou bidds't the world adore,
And humblest nature with thy northern blast.

Mysterious round! what skill, what force divine, Deep-felt, in these appear! a simple train, Yet so delightful mixed, with such kind art, Such beauty and beneficence combin’d; And all so forming an harmonious whole; Shade, unperceiv'd, so softening into shade, That, as they still succeed, they ravish still. But wandering oft, with brute unconscious gaze, Man marks not Thee, marks not the mighty hand That, ever busy, wheels the silent spheres ; Works in the secret deep; shoots, steaming, thence The fair profusion that o'erspreads the Spring; Flings from the sun direct the flaming day; Feeds ev'ry creature; hurls the tempest forth; And, as on earth this grateful change revolves, With transport touches all the springs of life. Nature attend ! join every living soul Beneath the spacious temple of the sky, In adoration join; and ardent raise One general song! To Him ye vocal gales

Breathe soft, whose Spirit in your freshness

breathes : O talk of Him in solitary glooms, Where o'er the roek the scarcely waving pine Fills the brown shade with a religious awe! And ye, whose bolder note is heard afar, Who shake th’astonish'd world, lift high to hear'n Th' impetuous song, and say from whom you rage. His praise, ye brooks, attune, Fe trembling rills; And let me catch it as I muse along. Ye headlong torrents, rapid and profound; Ye softer floods, that lead the humid maze Along the vale; and thou majestic main, A secret world of wonders in thyself, Sound his stupendous praise, whose greater roce Or bids you roar, or bids your roaring fall. So roll your incense, herbs, and fruits and flowers, In mingled clonds to Him, whose sun exalts, Whose breath perfumes you, and whose pencil

paints. Ye forests bend. ve harvests ware to Him; Breathe still

song into the reaper's heart, As home be goes beneath the jorous moon. Te that keep watch in heav'n, as earth asleep Unconscions bies, effuse your mildest beams, Ye comstellations, while Tour angels strike, Amid the spangled sky, the silver lyre. Grent source of day? best image here below Df thy Crestor, ever pouring wide, From world to world, the Tital ocean round. Om mature write with every beam his praise. The thunder rolls: be hushed thi prostrate world:

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