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lan may conjecture, and new schemes declare, Tet all his systems but conjectures are ; But this we know, that heav'n's eternal King, Who bid this universe from nothing spring, Can, at His word, bid nym'rous worlds appear, And rifing worlds th' all-pow'rful word shall hear,
When to the western main the sun descends, To other lands a rising day he lends; The spreading dawn another shepherd spies, The wakeful flocks from their warm folds arise ; Refresh'd, the peasant seeks his early toil, And bids the plough correct the fallow soil. While we in Sleep's embraces waste the Night, The climes oppos'd enjoy meridian light; And when those lands the busy sun forsakes, With us again the rosy Morning wakes ; In lazy Neep the Night rolls swift away, And neither clime laments his absent ray.
When the pure foul is from the body flown, No more thall Night's alternate reign be known; The sun no more fall rolling light bestow, But from th' Almighty streams of glory flow. Oh! may some nobler thought my soul employ, Than empty, transient, fublunary joy. The stars shall drop, the sun shall loose his fame, But thou, O God! for ever shine the famç.
W HEN all thy mercies, O my God,
My rising foul surveys; Transported with the view, I'm loft
In wonder, love, and praise.
The gratitude declare,
But thou canst read it there.
And all my wants redrest,
And hung upon the breast.
Thy mercy lent an ear,
To form themselves in pray'r.
Thy tender care bestow'd,
Thine arm unseen convey'd me safe,
And led me up to man.
It gently clear'd my way,
More to be fear'd than they.
With health renew'd my face,
Reviv'd my soul with grace.
Hath made my cup run o'er,
Hath doubl'd all my store.
My daily thanks employ,
That tastes those gifts with joy,
Thy goodness I'll pursue;
The glorious theme renew.
Divide thy works no more,
Thy mercy fhall adore.
A joyful fong I'll raise, For O! eternity's too short
To utter all thy praise.
THE Lord my pasture shall prepare,
When in the fultry glebe I faint,
Though in the paths of death I tread,
Though in a bare and rugged way,
HYMN :. :
FROM PSALM XIX.
THE spacious firmament on high; With all the blue ethereal sky, And spangled heav'ns, a shining frame, Their great Original proclaim : Th’unwearied fun from day to day, Does his Creator's pow'r display, And publishes to every land The work of an Almighty hand.
Soon as the ev'ning shades prevail,
What though in folemn silence all