Of this tempestuous state of human things Before a calm, that rocks itself to rest: For He, whose car the winds are, and the clouds O scenes surpassing fable, and yet true, Scenes of accomplish'd bliss! which who can see, Though but in distant prospect, and not feel His soul refresh'd with foretaste of the joy? Rivers of gladness water all the earth, And clothe all climes with beauty; the reproach Laughs with abundance; and the land, once lean, The garden fears no blight, and needs no fence, The lion, and the libbard, and the bear Graze with the fearless flocks; all bask at noon Of the same grove, and drink one common stream. Lurks in the serpent now: the mother sees, COWPER. But all is harmony and love. Disease Saw never, such as Heaven stoops down to see. Come then, and, added to Thy many crowns, Receive yet one, the crown of all the earth, Thou who alone art worthy! It was Thine By ancient covenant, ere Nature's birth; And Thou hast made it Thine by purchase since, And overpaid its value with Thy blood. Thy saints proclaim Thee king; and in their hearts Thy title is engraven with a pen Dipp'd in the fountain of eternal love. 389 HYMNS. THE eighteenth century gave England nearly all its hymns. If any popular collection were analysed, it would be found that the chronology of its chief contents ranges between 1709, when Watts published his "Spiritual Songs," and 1800, when Cowper died. The three favourite compositions of Bishop Ken are a little older, and some delightful additions have been made to our sacred minstrelsy by writers of more recent date -by Heber and James Montgomery, by Keble and Canon Stowell, by Sir E. Denny and Horatius Bonar; but still the great staple of British hymnology is to be found in Watts and Doddridge, in Toplady, Cowper, and the Wesleys, and in those contemporaries of theirs who clothed ardent devotion in vivid words and melodious numbers. Consequently, readers who are familiar with this kind of literature will at once recognise nearly all our specimens. It has been our object to bring together a few of those Christian lyrics which have been crowned by general acclamation, rather than to move for a new trial in behalf of candidates who, however graceful or ingenious, lacked that kind of excellence which compels the popular favour. BISHOP KEN. Regarding the three following hymns, Mr Montgomery has said—" Had he endowed three hospitals he might have been less a benefactor to posterity. There is exemplary plainness of speech, manly vigour of thought, and consecration of heart in these pieces. The well-known doxology, Praise God, from whom all blessings flow,' &c., is a masterpiece at once of amplification and compression-amplification, on the burthen 'Praise God,' repeated in each line; compression, in exhibiting God as the object of praise in every view in which we can imagine praise due to Him; praise for all His blessings-yea, for all blessings, none coming from any other source; praise, by every creature specifically involved, 'here below,' and 'in heaven above ;' praise to Him in each of the characters wherein He has revealed Himself in His word-Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Yet this comprehensive verse is sufficiently simple, that by it 'out of the mouths of babes and sucklings praise might be perfected; and it appears so easy, that one is tempted to think hundreds of the sort might be made without trouble. The reader has only to try, and he will quickly be undeceived."* This devout and conscientious prelate was born at Berkhampstead also the birthplace of Cowper-July 1637, and died at Longleat, March 19, 1711. For four years he held the bishopric of Bath and Wells, but, refusing the oath of allegiance to King William, he was deprived, and spent the rest of his life in peaceful retirement. For Morning. Awake, my soul, and with the sun Redeem thy misspent time that's past, Let all thy converse be sincere ; Thy conscience as the noon-day clear; Influenced by the light divine, Let thy own light in good works shine: Reflect all Heaven's propitious ways, Wake, and lift up thyself, my heart, I wake, I wake, ye heavenly choir; May I, like you, in God delight, Had I your wings, to heaven I'd fly, Glory to Thee who safe hast kept, Grant, Lord, when I from death shall wake, I would not wake, nor rise again, Heaven is, dear Lord, where'er Thou art, For to my soul 'tis hell to be But for one moment without Thee. Lord, I my vows to Thee renew; Scatter my sins as morning dew; Guard my first springs of thought and will, And with Thyself my spirit fill. Direct, control, suggest, this day, All I design, or do, or say; |