The prospect of eternal peace
Bids ev'ry trouble rest.
5 O gracious Father, grant
That we this influence feel,
That all we hope, or wish, may be
Subjected to thy will.
1 HAPPY the meek, whose gentle breast,
Clear as the summer's ev'ning ray,
Calm as the regions of the blest,
Enjoys on earth celestial day.
2 There, no confusion racks the mind
By its own fierce ideas tost;
Nor reason is to rage resign'd,
And in the whirl of passion lost.
3 Far hence is that fierce child of pride,
Anger, bred up in hate and strife;
Ten thousand ills by whom supply'd,
Mingle the cup of bitter life.
4 No friendships broke, their bosoms sting,
No jars their peaceful tent invade ;
Secure, beneath th' Almighty wing,
And, fees to none, of none afraid.
5 Spirit of grace, all meek and mild!
Inspire our breasts, our souls possess ;
Repel each passion rude and wild,
And bless us as we aim to bless.
182. S. M. SCOTT.
Worldly anxiety reproved.
1 WHY do I thus perplex
My life, a breath of air,
With fears of distant ills, and vex
My heart with fruitless care?
2 Can thought and toil increase
My days appointed sum?
Why waste I then my time, my peace,
To hoard for days to come?
3 Will he whose bounty gave
My life, its food deny ?
Who form'd my nature, apt to crave, . Its cravings not supply?
4 The tribes that wing the air,
That neither sow nor reap,
Send up to God their daily cry,
Who gives them food and sleep.
5 Then let to-morrow's cares
Until to-morrow stay:
The trouble which to-day prepares,
Suffices for to-day.
6 To him, these low desires,
This sordid gain I leave,
Who to no higher good aspires,
Than what this world can give.
7 To nobler work applied,
My soul shall upward climb;
And trust my father to provide
The needful things of time.
1 How happy is he born and taught,
Who serveth not another's will;
Whose armour is his honest thought,
And simple truth, his utmost skill!
2 Whose passions not his masters are,
Whose soul is still prepar'd for death,
Unty'd to this vain world by care
Of public fame, or private breath:
3 Who envies none that change doth raise; Nor vice hath ever understood;
How deepest wounds are giv'n by praise;
Nor rules of state, but rules of good:
4 Who hath his life from rumours freed,
Whose conscience is his strong retreat:
Whose state can neither flatt'rers feed,
Nor ruin make oppressors great:
5 Who God doth late and early pray
More of his grace than gifts, to lend;
To crave for less and more obey,
Nor dare with heav'n's high will contend.
6 This man is freed from servile bands
Of hope to rise or fear to fall:
Lord of himself, though not of lands,
And, having nothing, yet hath all.
1 LORD! may we relish with content Whate'er thy lib'ral hand hath sent, Nor aim beyond our pow'r;
And if our store of wealth be small,
With thankful hearts improve it all,
Nor waste the present hour.
2 If happiness in truth we prize,
Within our breasts this jewel lies,
And they are fools who roam;
The world has little to bestow,
From our ownselves our joys must flow;
Our bliss begins at home.
3 To be resign'd, when ills betide,
Patient, when favours are deny'd,
And pleas'd with favours giv'n;
This, gracious God! is wisdom's part;
This is that incense of the heart,
Whose fragrance reaches heav'n.
4 Thus thro' life's changing scenes we'll go,
Its chequer'd paths of joy and woe,
With cautious steps we'll tread;
Quit its vain scenes without a tear,
Without a trouble or a fear,
And mingle with the dead:
5 While conscience, like a faithful friend,
Shall thro' the gloomy vale attend,
And cheer our dying breath;
Shall, when all other comforts cease,
Like a kind angel, whisper peace,
And smooth the bed of death.
1 AWAKE, my soul, shake off the dream,
And know thy real excellence;
Too long I've yielded to the stream,
Borne down by appetite and sense.
2 Awake, my thought, rouse ev'ry pow'r,
Thy native dignity display:
Let lust and passion reign no more,
No longer own their lawless sway.
3 Thy temper meek and humble be,
Content and pleas'd with ev'ry state;
From dire revenge and envy free,
And wild ambition to be great.
4 Confine thy roving appetites:
From this vain world withdraw thine eyes;
Fix them on pure, divine delights,
And love and live above the skies.
5 On wings of faith to heav'n ascend,
By hope anticipate the feast;
With all thy might still upward tend,
And leave to sensual minds the rest.
1 WHEREFORE should man, frail child of clay, Who, from the cradle to the shroud, Lives but the insect of a day
O why should mortal man be proud?
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