In Him you live and breathe, in Him you move; Then praise Him, child, for all his wondrous love! Oh! let thy song, like sacred incense rise In hallelujahs to the lofty skies! EASTER HYMN. This day our blessed Saviour rose Blest be this day, for ever blest Banish, my heart, each earthly care, Oh! may no earth-born passion rest, Revive this weak and languid frame PARAPHRASE OF THE SEVENTH CHAPTER OF JOB. Our days are numbered here below, Restless I pass the weary night, And long for morning's cheerful dawn; My days of pain fly swiftly on, As shuttle from the weaver's hand; Reviving hope has ceased to cheer The anguish of my tortured' heart; When to my couch I restless fly, My wounded spirit, spent with care. Oh! heavenly Father, end my life! I loathe it, and would now resign My breath is like a passing cloud, Oh! what is man, poor feeble man, With suffering, pain, and anguish marr'd! Why should'st thou visit him each morn, His wayward faith, and prove how strong I have sinned-thou great preserver! "I ASCEND UNTO MY FATHER AND YOUR FATHER, MY GOD AND YOUR GOD." "Say, Mary, why these flowing tears? Lone one, why dost thou weep? "Thy penitence hath washed away And, through affliction, paved the way To virtue, peace, and truth. "Then why those tears? Oh! tell me why Does grief contract thy brow?" "Oh! canst thou not the cause descry? Where is my Saviour now? "Where hast thou laid my blessed Lord? "Mary!"-a well-known voice replied, Which thrilled her inmost soul; She turned, and filled with wonder, cried "My Master, I behold!" Oh! how her heart with rapture glowed "Oh! touch me not;-I have not yet At His right hand I take my seat, "Oh! Mary, haste, the tidings spread, Tell them, though they beheld me dead, "Unto my Father I ascend, Unto thy God and mine: Transcendent goodness! wondrous grace! Which brought salvation to the race TO MY DEAR AND BELOVED FRIEND, MRS. Oh dearest, could my feeble pen Then would I touch the trembling chord, But my weak lyre in vain essays To touch the notes to friendship dear; Trembling it shrinks; the feeble lay Responds alone to sorrow's tear. Oh, I would paint in glowing verse Oft hast thou watched the germs of thought, And seen the swelling buds expand, Inhaled the fragrance of the flowers, When blooming 'neath my fostering hand. |