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"Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no more:
I mourn, but ye woodlands I mourn not for you,
For morn is approaching your charms to restore,
Perfumed with fresh fragrance and glittering with dew.
Nor yet for the ravage of winter I mourn,
Kind nature the embryo blossom will save;
But when shall spring visit the mouldering urn!
O when shall it dawn on the night of the grave!

"Twas thus by the glare of false science betrayed, That leads to bewilder, and dazzles to blind; My thoughts wont to roam from shade onward to shade, Destruction before me, and sorrow behind. "O pity, great Father of Light," then I cried, "Thy creature who fain would not wander from thee! Lo, humbled in dust, I relinquish my pride, From doubt and from darkness thou only canst free." And darkness and doubt are now flying away, No longer I roam in conjecture forlorn, So breaks on the traveller faint and astray, The bright and the balmy effulgence of morn. See Truth, Love, and Mercy, in triumph descending, And nature all glowing in Eden's first bloom! On the cold cheek of death,smiles and roses are blending, And beauty immortal awakes from the tomb.'



HIGHER, higher, will we climb
Up the mount of glory,

That our name may live through time,

In our country's story;
Happy when her welfare calls
He who conquers, he who falls.

Deeper, deeper, let us toil
In the mines of knowledge;
Nature's wealth, and learning's spoil,
Win from school and college;
Delve we there for richer gems,
Than the stars of diadems.

Onward, onward, may we press
Through the path of duty;
Virtue is true happiness,

Excellence true beauty;
Minds are of celestial birth,
Make we then a heaven of earth.

Closer, closer, let us knit

Hearts and hands together,
Where our fireside comforts sit
In the wildest weather;

Oh they wander wide, who roam

For the joys of life, from home.

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BUT if there be one attribute divine, With greater lustre than the rest can shine, "Tis goodness, which we every moment see, The Godhead exercise with such delight.

It seems,
it only seems, to be
The best belov'd perfection of the Deity,
And more than infinite.

Without that, he could never prove,
A proper object of our praise or love.
Were he not good, he'd be no more concern'd
To hear the wretched in affliction cry,

Or see the guiltless for the guilty die,
Than Nero, when the flaming city burn'd,
And weeping Romans o'er its ruin mourn'd.
Eternal justice then would be
But everlasting cruelty:

Power unrestrain'd, almighty violence
And wisdom unconfin'd, but craft immense.
"Tis goodness constitutes him that he is,
And those

Who will deny him this,

A God without a deity suppose.

When the lewd atheist blasphemously swears
By his tremendous name,

There is no God, but all's a sham,
Insipid tattle, praise and prayers;
Virtue, pretence, and all the sacred rules
Religion teaches, tricks to cully fools,-

Justice would strike the audacious villain dead, But mercy boundless saves his guilty head; Gives him protection, and allows him bread. Does not the sinner, whom no danger awes, Without restraint his infamy pursue,

Rejoice, and glory in it too;

Laugh at the power divine, and ridicule his laws, Labour in vice, his rivals to excel,

That when he's dead, they may their pupils tell, How wittily the fool was damn'd, how hard he fell ? Yet this vile wretch in safety lives, Blessings in common with the best receives,

Tho' he is proud t'affront the God those blessings gives, The cheerful sun his influence sheds on all,

Has no respect to good or ill;

And fruitful show'rs without distinction fall,
Which fields with corn, with grass the pastures fill.
The bounteous hand of Heav'n bestows
Success and honour many times on those,
Who scorn his favourites and caress his foes.

To this good God, whom my adventurous pen
Has dar'd to celebrate

In lofty Pindar's strain;

Tho' with unequal strength to bear the weight
Of such a pond'rous theme, so infinitely great;
To this good God, celestial spirits pay,
With ecstacy divine, incessant praise,
While on the glories of his face they gaze,
In the bright regions of eternal day.
To him each rational existence here,
Whose breast one spark of gratitude contains,
In whom there are the least remains
Of piety or fear,

His tribute brings of joyful sacrifice,
For pardon prays, and for protection flies:
Nay, the inanimate creation give,

By prompt obedience to his word,
Instinctive honour to their Lord;

And shame the thinking world, who in rebellion live.
With heav'n and earth, then, O my soul, unite,
And the great God of both, adore and bless,
Who gives thee competence, content, and peace,
The only fountains of sincere delight.
That from the transitory joys below,

Thou by a happy exit, may'st remove
To those ineffable above:

Which from the vision of the Godhead flow, And neither end, decrease, nor interruption know.



ACROSS a trackless sea
I saw the vessel glide-
The pale moon's tranquil beam
Was playing on the tide;

But the way she came was dark,
Ere she reached the partial gleam,
And dark her way again,
When past the silvery stream.

And is it then so brief
Thy pleasure's golden day?
While all thy path beside
Is a dark and dreary way!

Not so. Though dark and drear
May seem thy course to me,
As if it loved thy path,
The bright beam follows thee.

And thou art gliding on,
Unmindful of thy gloom;
It all is fair to thee,
For thou art going home.

And be my path like thine
In this world's midnight way,
Where nought but love divine
Can light it into day!

Though seen in shadows oft,
And veiled with many a tear,
My path will still be bright,
If love and peace be there.

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