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Blush, Calumny! and write upon his tomb,
If honest Eulogy can spare thee room,

Thy deep repentance of thy thousand lies,
Which, aim'd at him, have pierc'd th' offended skies!
And say, Blot out my sin, confess'd, deplor'd,
Against thine image, in thy saint, O Lord!

COWPER.

THE GLORY OF GOD.

WE see, with rapt'rous joy, the sun,
And own its Maker's pow'r;
And when its daily course is run,
His glory still adore:

For then His countless worlds, on high,
The glittering Heaven deck;
What myriads praise Him in the sky
On each resplendent speck!

Great, wond'rous, empyreal King!
We on thy glories gaze,
Whilst earth, and all her fulness, sing,
Unceasingly, thy praise.

O may I never cease my part

In that grand song to bear;
But, grateful, tune my ravish'd heart
When day or night appear.

HYMN.

THOU didst, O mighty God! exist

Ere time began its race;

Before the ample elements
Fill'd up the void of space :

ROSE.

Before the pond'rous earthly globe
In fluid air was stay'd,

Before the ocean's mighty springs
Their liquid stores display'd;

Ere through the gloom of ancient night
The streaks of light appear'd;
Before the high celestial arch,
Or starry poles were rear'd:
Before the loud melodious spheres
Their tuneful round begun ;
Before the shining roads of heav'n
Were measur❜d by the sun :
Ere through the empyrean courts
One hallelujah rung;

Or to their harps the sons of light
Ecstatic anthems sung:

Ere men ador'd, or angels knew,
Or prais'd thy wond'rous name;
Thy bliss, O sacred spring of life!
Thy glory, was the same.

And when the pillars of the world
With sudden ruin break,

And all this vast and goodly frame
Sinks in the mighty wreck;

When from her orb the moon shall start,
Th' astonish'd sun roll back,
And all the trembling starry lamps

Their ancient course forsake;

For ever permanent and fix'd,

From agitation free,

Unchang'd in everlasting years,
Shall thy existence be.

MRS. ROWE.

PSALM CXXII.

THE festal Morn, my God, is come,
That calls me to thy honour'd Dome
Thy presence to adore :

My feet the summons shall attend,
With willing steps thy Courts ascend,
And tread the hallow'd floor.

Ev'n now to our transported eyes
Fair Sion's tow'rs in prospect rise;
Within her gates we stand,
And, lost in wonder and delight,
Behold her happy Sons unite
In friendship's firmest band.

Hither from Judah's utmost end
The Heav'n-protected Tribes ascend;
Their off'rings hither bring:

Here, eager to attest their joy,

In hymns of praise their tongues employ,
And hail th' immortal King.

By his Command impell'd, to Her
Contending Crowds their cause refer ;
While Princes, from her Throne,
With equal doom, th' unerring Law
Dispense, who boast their birth to draw
From Jesse's favour'd Son.

Be Peace by Each implor'd on thee,
O Salem, while with bended knee
To Jacob's God we pray;

How blest, who calls himself thy Friend!
Success his labour shall attend,

And safety guard his way.

O may'st thou, free from hostile fear,
Nor the loud voice of tumult hear,

Nor war's wild wastes deplore:
May plenty nigh thee take her stand,
And in thy courts with lavish hand
Distribute all her store.

Seat of my Friends and Brethren, hail!
How can my tongue, O Salem, fail
To bless thy lov❜d abode ?

How cease the zeal that in me glows
Thy good to seek, whose walls inclose
The mansion of my God?

MERRICK.

HYMN.

BEHOLD! the mountain of the Lord
In latter days shall rise,

Above the mountains and the hills,
And draw the wond'ring eyes.

To this the joyful nation round,
All tribes and tongues, shall flow;
Up to the hill of God, they'll say,
And to his house we'll go.

The beam that shines on Zion Hill
Shall lighten ev'ry land;

The King who reigns in Zion Towers
Shall all the world command.

No strife shall vex Messiah's reign
Or mar the peaceful years,

To ploughshares soon they beat their swords,
To pruning-hooks their spears.

No longer hosts encount'ring hosts,
Their millions slain deplore;

They hang the trumpet in the hall,
And study war no more.

Come then-O come from ev'ry land,

To worship at his shrine;
And, walking in the light of God,
With holy beauties shine.

LOGAN.

MARTYRS.

PATRIOTS have toil'd, and in their country's cause Bled nobly; and their deeds, as they deserve,

Receive proud recompense.

We give in charge

Their names to the sweet lyre. Th' historic muse,
Proud of the treasure, marches with it down
To latest times; and Sculpture, in her turn,
Gives bond in stone and ever-during brass
To guard them, and t' immortalize her trust.
But fairer wreaths are due, though never paid,
To those, who, posted at the shrine of Truth,
Have fall'n in her defence. A patriot's blood,
Well spent in such a strife, may earn indeed,
And for a time ensure, to his lov'd land
The sweets of liberty and equal laws;
But martyrs struggle for a brighter prize,
And win it with more pain.

Their blood is shed

In confirmation of the noblest claim,
Our claim to feed upon immortal truth,
To walk with God, to be divinely free,
To soar, and to anticipate the skies.

Yet few remember them. They liv'd unknown,
Till Persecution dragg'd them into fame,

And chas'd them up to Heav'n. Their ashes flew
-No marble tells us whither. With their names
No bard embalms and sanctifies his song:
And history, so warm on meaner themes,
Is cold on this. She execrates indeed

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