On this page
- Text (3)
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software. The text has not been manually corrected and should not be relied on to be an accurate representation of the item.
Additionally, when viewing full transcripts, extracted text may not be in the same order as the original document.
Sunday Evening . Welcome tKe hour of calm repose , The ev ' ning of the Sabbath-day : In peace my wearied eyes shall close When I have tuned my vesper lay , In humble gratitue to Him Who wak'd the morning ' s earliest beam .
In such an hour as this how sweet , In the still solitude of even , To hold with heaven communion moot , Meet for a spirit bound to heaven ; And in this wilderness beneath Pure zephyrs from above to breathe !
It may be that th' Eternal Mind Bends sometimes from its throne of bliss ; Where should we then its presence find But in an hour so blest as this—An hour of calm tranquillity Silent , as to welcome Thee ?
Yes ! if the Great Invisible , Descending from his seat divine , May deign upon this earth to dwell ; Where shall he find , a welcoming shrine But in the heart of man , who bears His image , and his spirit shares ? Now let the solemn thought pervade
My soul , and let my heart prepare A throne . Come , veil'd in awful shade , Thou Spirit of God 1 that I may dare Hail Thee , nor like Thy prophet be Blinded by Thy bright majesty . Then hold communion , Lord ! with Thee ii \
. m . ^ v y And turn my wand ' rlng thoughts within , Then , tho' but for a moment , see Thy image ; purified from sin And earth ' s pollutions , let me prove , If not Thy majesty—Thy love .
That love which over all is shed , Shed on the worthless as the just ; Lighting the stars above our head And waking beauty out of dust . The farthest comet ' s path is nought To the vast orbit of His thought . To Him alike the living stream And the dull regions of the grave ; All watch'd , protected all by Him Whose eye can see , whose arm can
save In the cold midnight's dang ' rous gloom , And the dark prison of the tomb . Thither we hasten—as the sand Drops in the hour-glass , never still ; So , gather'd in by Death ' s rude hand The store-house of the grave we fill . And sleep in peace , —as safely kept A * when on earth we smil'd or wept .
What is our duty here ? to tend From good to better , thence to best : Grateful to drink life ' s cup , then bend Unmurmuring to our bed of rest : To pluck the flowers that round us blow , Scattering their fragrance as we go .
And so to live that when the sun Of our existence sinks in night , Memorials sweet of mercies done May shrine our names in memory's light , And the blest seeds we scatter ed , bloom A hundred-fold in days to come . A .
TO JOHN WILKS , Esq . On Reading his admirable Address to the " Protestant Society . 99 ( Mon . llcpos . XV . 366—369 , 434—437 , 488—496 . ) High-gifted Wilks , whose richly-furnish'd mind For every theme can illustrations find : Whose eloquence , a torrent clear and
strong , Bears in its course , eyes , ears and hearts along ! Pursue thy way—improve the talent given , And plead the cause of liberty and heaven ; Secure of this , however vice prevails , That , soon or late , no honest effort fails . E . B . Sidmouth , September 11 , 1820 .
50 Poetry . —On the Death of a beloved Sister in France .
ON THE DEATH OF A BELOVED SISTER IN , FRANCE . The flower we rearM was young and fair , We tended it with ceaseless care , For in our hearts ' twas planted ; A thousand odours round it flew , A thousand buds upon it blew , Buds of the fairest promise too , And oh , how each enchanted !
But winter's wind , and summer ' s show ' r , Will seldom spare so fair a flow ' r , And our belov'd was blighted ;—To milder climes the flower we bore , And there it blossom'd as before , And seem'd as though ' twould fade no more ;—Oh , —how we were delighted !
But once again the death-wind came , And struck its frail and feeble frame , By kindness unretarded ; Resign'd to fate , it hung its head , Ten thousand dying odours shed , And smil'd , as whispering angels said , "In heaven thou'lt be rewarded . " F . F . D
Monthly Repository (1806-1838) and Unitarian Chronicle (1832-1833), Jan. 2, 1821, page 50, in the Nineteenth-Century Serials Edition (2008; 2018) ncse.ac.uk/periodicals/mruc/issues/vm2-ncseproduct2496/page/50/