THE COMPARISON AND COMPLAINT.

INFINITE Power, eternal Lord,
How sovereign is thy hand!
All nature rose t' obey thy word,
And moves at thy command.

With steady course thy shining sun
Keeps his appointed way;
And all the hours obedient run
The circle of the day.

But ah! how wide my spirit flies,
And wanders from her God!
My soul forgets the heavenly prize,
And treads the downward road.

The raging fire, and stormy sea,
Perform thine awful will,
And every beast and every tree
Thy great designs fulfil;

While my wild passions rage within,

Nor thy commands obey;

And flesh and sense, enslaved to sin,
Draw my best thoughts away.

Shall creatures of a meaner frame
Pay all their dues to thee?

Creatures, that never knew thy name,

That never lov'd like me?

Great God, create my soul anew,

Conform my heart to thine;
Melt down my will, and let it flow,
And take the mould divine.

Seize my whole frame into thy hand:
Here all my pow'rs bring;

Manage the wheels by thy command,
And govern every spring.

Then shall my feet no more depart,
Nor wand'ring senses rove;
Devotion shall be all my heart,
And all my passions love.

Then not the sun shall more than I

His Maker's law perform,

Nor travel swifter through the sky,

Nor with a zeal so warm.

GOD SUPREME AND SELF-SUFFICIENT.

WHAT is our God, or what his name,
Nor men can learn, nor angels teach;

He dwells conceal'd in radiant flame,

Where neither eyes nor thoughts can reach.

The spacious worlds of heav'nly light,
Compar'd with him, how short they fall!
They are too dark, and he too bright,
Nothing are they, and God is all.

He spoke the wondrous word, and lo,
Creation rose at his command:
Whirlwinds and seas their limits know,
Bound in the hollow of his hand.

There rests the earth, there rolls the spheres, There nature leans, and feels her prop: But his own self-sufficience bears

The weight of his own glories up.

The tide of creatures ebbs and flows,
Measuring their changes by the moon:
No ebb his sea of glory knows;
His age is one eternal noon.

Then fly, my song, an endless round,
The lofty tune let Michael raise;
All nature dwell upon the sound,
But we can ne'er fulfil the praise.

LOOKING UPWARD.

THE heavens invite mine eye,
The stars salute me round;
Father, I blush, I mourn to lie
Thus grovelling on the ground.

My warmer spirits move,

And make attempts to fly ;
I wish aloud for wings of love
To raise me swift and high.

Beyond those crystal vaults,

And all their sparkling balls; They're but the porches to thy courts,

And paintings on thy walls.

Vain world, farewell to you!
Heaven is my native air:
I bid my friends a short adieu,
Impatient to be there.

I feel my powers releast

From their old fleshy clod;
Fair guardian, bear me up in haste
And set me near my God.

CHRIST DYING, RISING, AND REIGNING.

HE dies! the heavenly Saviour dies!
The tidings strike a doleful sound
On my poor heart-strings: deep he lies
In the cold caverns of the ground.

Come, saints, and drop a tear or two,
On the dear bosom of your God,
He shed a thousand drops for you,
A thousand drops of richer blood.

Here's love and grief beyond degree,
The Lord of Glory dies for men!
But lo, what sudden joys I see!
Jesus the dead revives again!

The rising God forsakes the tomb,
Up to his Father's court he flies;
Cherubic legions guard him home,
And shout him welcome to the skies.

Break off your tears, ye saints, and tell
How high our Great Deliverer reigns,
Sing how he spoil'd the hosts of hell,
And led the monster Death in chains.

Say, live for ever, wondrous King!
Born to redeem, and strong to save!
Then ask the monster, Where's thy sting?
And where's thy victory, boasting grave?

THE DAY OF JUDGMENT.

AN ODE.

Attempted in the English Sapphic.

WHEN the fierce north wind with his airy forces
Rears up the Baltic to a foaming fury;

And the red lightning, with a storm of hail, comes

Rushing amain down;

How the poor sailors stand amaz'd and tremble!
While the hoarse thunder, like a bloody trumpet,
Roars a loud onset to the gaping waters,

Quick to devour them.

Such shall the noise be, and the wild disorder, (If things eternal may be like those earthly,) Such the dire terror when the great archangel

Shakes the creation;

Tears the strong pillars of the vault of heaven,
Breaks up old marble, the repose of princes;
See the graves open, and the bones arising-

Flames all around them!