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Whose steps a saintly figure trod,
He landed in our view,
'Midst flaming hosts above; Whose ranks stood silent, while he drew
Nigh to the throne of love, And meekly took the lowest seat, Yet nearest his Redeemer's feet.
Thrilled with ecstatic awe,
Entranced our spirits fell, And saw-yet wist not what they saw,
And heard-no tongue can tell What sounds the ear of rapture caught, What glory filled the eye of thought.
Thus far above the pole,
On wings of mountain fire, Faith may pursue the enfranchised soul,
But soon her pinions tire; It is not given to mortal man Eternal mysteries to scan.
-Behold the bed of death;
This pale and lovely clay;
Marked ye the eye's last ray?
Could tears revive the dead,
Rivers should swell our eyes ! Could sighs recall the spirit fled,
We would not quench our sighs Till love relumed this altered mien, And all the embodied soul were seen.
Bury the dead ;-and weep
In stillness o'er the loss;
Who bore on earth His cross,
THE MEMORY OF THE JUST.
STRIKE a louder, loftier lyre;
Bolder, sweeter strains employ; Wake, Remembrance! and inspire
Sorrow with the song of joy. Who was he, for whom our tears
Flowed, and will not cease to flow? Full of honours and of years,
In the dust his head lies low. Yet resurgent from the dust,
Springs aloft his mighty name; For the memory of the just
Lives in everlasting fame.
Did his inmost heart reveal;
On his forehead, Heaven's broad seal. Kindness all his looks expressed,
Charity was every word;
And the ear rejoiced that heard.
Holy, humble, courteous, mild, He could blend the awe of age
With the sweetness of a child. As a cedar of the LORD,
On the height of Lebanon, Shade and shelter doth afford
From the tempest and the sun; While in green luxuriant prime,
Fragrant airs its boughs diffuse, From its locks it shakes sublime,
O'er the hills, the morning dews: Thus he flourished, tall and strong,
Glorious in perennial health; Thus he scattered, late and long, All his plenitude of wealth !
Wealth, which prodigals had deemed
Worth the soul's uncounted cost; Wealth, which misers had esteemed
Cheap, though heaven itself were lost.
This with free unsparing hand
To the poorest child of need, This he threw around the land,
Like the sower's precious seed.
In the world's great harvest-day,
Every grain on every ground, Stony, thorny, by the way,
Shall a hundredfold be found.
Yet, like noon's refulgent blaze,
Though he shone from east to west, Far withdrawn from public gaze,
Secret goodness pleased him best,
As the sun, retired from sight,
Through the purple evening gleams, Or, unrisen, clothes the night
In the morning's golden beams;
Thus beneath the horizon dim,
He would hide his radiant head, And on eyes that saw not him,
Light and consolation shed.
Oft his silent spirit went,
Like an angel from the throne, On benign commissions bent,
In the fear of God alone.
Then the widow's heart would sing,
As she turned her wheel for joy ; Then the bliss of hope would spring
On the outcast orphan boy.
To the blind, the deaf, the lame,
To the ignorant and vile, Stranger, captive, slave, he came With a welcome and a smile.
Help to all he did dispense,
Gold, instruction, raiment, food,
To the evil and the good.
Deeds of mercy, deeds unknown,
Shall eternity record,
For he did them to the LORD.
As the earth puts forth her flowers,
Heavenward breathing from below;
When the southern breezes blow ;
Thus his renovated mind,
Warm with pure celestial love,
While its hopes aspired above.
Full of faith, at length he died,
And, victorious in the race,
Not of merit, but of grace.
THE pyre that burns the aged Brahmin's bones,
In savage realms, when tyrants yield their breath,
When heroes fall triumphant on the plain,
The pageantry of public grief requires
Reynolds expires, a nobler chief than these;
should bid them roll the stone away.
prove himself the minister of all. Bristol ! to thee the eye of Albion turns; At thought of thee thy country's spirit burns; For in thy walls, as on her dearest ground, Are “ British minds and British manners” found : And, 'midst the wealth which Avon's waters pour From every clime on thy commercial shore, Thou hast a native mine of worth untold ; Thine heart is not encased in rigid gold,