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To the Rainbow.

How glorious is thy girdle cast

O’er mountain, tower, and town,
Or mirror'd in the ocean vast,

A thousand fathoms down !

As fresh in yon horizon dark,

As young thy beauties seem,
As when the eagle from the ark

First sported in thy beam.

For, faithful to its sacred page,

Heaven still rebuilds thy span,
Nor lets the type grow pale with age,

That first spoke peace to man.


The Star of Bethlehem.

When marshall’d on the nightly plain,

The glittering host bestud the sky; One star alone, of all the train,

Can fix the sinner's wandering eye.

Hark! hark ! to God the chorus breaks,

From every host, from every gem : But one alone the Saviour speaks,

It is the star of Bethlehem.

Once on the raging seas I rode,

The storm was loud, the night was dark,
The ocean yawn'd, and rudely blow’d

The wind that toss'd my foundering bark.

Deep horror then my vitals froze,

Death-struck, I ceased the tide to stem;
When suddenly a star arose-

It was the Star of Bethlehem.

It was my guide, my light, my all,

It bade my dark forbodings cease;
And through the storm and dangers' thrall,

It led me to the port of peace.

Now safely moor’d, my perils o'er,

I'll sing, first in night's diadem,
For ever and for evermore,

The Star !- the Star of Bethlehem !


Hymn for the Fifteenth Sunday after Trinity.

Lo, the lilies of the field,
How their leaves instruction yield !
Hark to Nature's lesson, given
By the blessed birds of heaven !
Every bush and tufted tree
Warbles sweet philosophy:
“ Mortal, fly from doubt and sorrow :
God provideth for the morrow!

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Say, with richer crimson glows
The kingly mantle than the rose ?
Say, have kings more wholesome fare
Than we, poor citizens of air?
Barns nor hoarded grain have we,
Yet we carol merrily.
Mortal, fly from doubt and sorrow;
God provideth for the morrow!

“ One there lives, whose guardian eye

Guides our humble destiny ;
One there lives, who, Lord of all,
Keeps our feathers lest they fall :
Pass we blithely then the time,
Fearless of the share and lime,
Free from doubt and faithless sorrow :
God provideth for the morrow!"


The Trumpet.

The trumpet's voice hath roused the land

Light up the beacon pyre!
A hundred hills have seen the brand,

And waved the sign of fire.
A hundred banners on the breeze

Their gorgeous folds have castAnd, hark ! — was that the sound of seas?

A king to war went past.

The chief is arming in his hall,

The peasant by his hearth ;
The mourner hears the thrilling call,

And rises from the earth.
The mother on her first-born son

Looks with a boding eyeThey come not back, though all be won,

Whose young hearts leap so high.

The bard hath ceased his song, and bound

The falchion to his side;
E'en for the marriage-altar crown'd,

The lover quits his bride.
And all this haste, and change, and fear,

By earthly clarion spread!
How will it be when kingdoms hear

The blast that wakes the dead?


On a Girdle.

That which her slender waist confin'd

Shall now my joyful temples bind : No monarch but would give his crown, His arms might do what this has done.

It was my heav'n's extremest sphere, The pale which held that lovely deer; My joy, my grief, my hope, my love, Did all within this circle move!

A narrow compass! and yet there Dwelt all that's good, and all that's fair. Give me but what this riband bound, Take all the rest the sun goes round.


Chloris! yourself you so excel,
When you vouchsafe to breathe my thought,
That, like a spirit, with this spell
Of my own teaching I am caught.

That eagle's fate and mine are one,
Which, on the shaft that made him die,
Espied a feather of his own,
Wherewith he wont to soar so high.

Had Echo, with so sweet a grace,
Narcissus' loud complaints return'd,
Not for reflection of his face,
But of his voice, the boy had burn'd.


Go, lovely Rose!
Tell her that wastes her time and me,
That now she knows,
When I resemble her to thee,
How sweet and fair she seems to be.

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