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Then is not youth, as Fancy tells,

Life's summer prime of joy? Ah! no; for hopes too long delayed, And feelings blasted or betrayed,

The fabled bliss destroy; And he remembers with a sigh The careless days of infancy.

Maturer manhood now arrives

And other thoughts come on,
But with the baseless hopes of youth

Its generous warmth is gone;
Cold calculating cares succeed,
The timid thought, the wary deed,

The dull realities of truth;
Back on the past he turns his eye;
Remembering with an envious sigh

The happy dreams of youth.

So reaches he the latter stage
Of this our mortal pilgrimage,

With feeble, step and slow;
New ills that latter stage await,
And old experience learns too late

That all is vanity below;


Life's vain delusions are gone by,

Its idle hopes are o'er,
Yet age remembers with a sigh,

The days that are no more.



In evil long I took delight,

Unawed by shame or fear,
Till a new object struck my sight,

And stopped my wild career.

I saw one hanging on a tree,

In agonies and blood,
Who fixed his languid eyes on me,

As near his cross I stood.

Sure never till my latest breath

Can I forget that look;
It seemed to charge me with his death,

Though not a word he spoke.

My conscience felt, and owned the guilt,

And plunged me in despair:
I saw my sins his blood had spilt,

And helped to nail him there.

Alas! I know not what I did,

But now my tears are vain:
Where shall my trembling soul be hid?

For I the Lord have slain.

A second look he gave, which said,

'I freely all forgive: This blood is for thy ransom paid,

I die, that thou may'st live.'

Thus, while his death my sin displays

In all its blackest hue,
(Such is the mystery of grace,)

It seals my pardon too.

With pleasing grief and mournful joy,

My spirit now is filled,
That I should such a life destroy,
Yet live by him I killed.



O thou whose beams the sea-girt earth array,
King of the sky, and father of the day!
O sun! what fountain, hid from human eyes,
Supplies thy circle round the radiant skies,
For ever burning and for ever bright,
With heaven's pure fire and everlasting light?
What awful beauty in thy face appears!
Immortal youth beyond the power of years!

When gloomy darkness to thy reign resigns,
And from the gates of morn thy glory shines,
The conscious stars are put to sudden flight,
And all the planets hide their heads in night;
The Queen of heaven forsakes the etherial plain,
To sink inglorious in the western main;
The clouds refulgent deck thy golden throne,
High in the heavens, immortal and alone!
Who can abide the brightness of thy face,
Or who attend thee in thy rapid race?
The mountain oaks, like their own leaves, decay;
Themselves, the mountains, wear with age away;
The boundless main that rolls from land to land,
Lessens at times and leaves a waste of sand:
The silver moon, refulgent lamp of night,
Is lost in heaven, and emptied of her light;
But thou for ever shalt endure the same,
Thy light eternal, and unspent thy flame!

When tempests with their train impend on high,
Darken the day, and load the labouring sky;
When heaven's wide convex glows with lightnings dire,
All ether flaming, and all earth on fire;
When loud and long the deep-mouthed thunder rolls,
And peals on peals redoubled rend the poles;
If from the opening clouds thy form appears,
Her wonted charm the face of nature wears;
Thy beauteous orb restores departed day,
Looks from the sky and laughs the storm away.



Oh! thou who dry'st the mourner's tear,
How dark this world would be,
If, when deceived and wounded here,
We could not fly to thee!

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