SAVIOUR! when night involves the skies;
My soul, adoring, turns to thee:
Thee, self abased in mortal guise,
And wrapt in shades of death for me.
On thee my bursting raptures dwell,
When crimson gleams the east adorn ;
Thee, victor of the grave and hell,
Thee, source of life's eternal morn.
When noon her throne in light arrays,
To thee my soul triumphant springs;
Thee, throned in glory's endless blaze,
Thee, LORD OF LORDS! and KING OF KINGS!
O'er earth when shades of evening steal,
To Death, and Thee, my thoughts I give:
To Death, whose power I soon shall feel;
To Thee, with whom I trust to live!
FROM THE GERMAN OF STOLBERG.
With two Additional Stanzas.
HOLY Nature, heavenly fair,
Lead me with thy parent care ;
In thy footseps let me tread,
As a willing child is led.
When, with care and grief opprest,
Soft I sink me on thy breast;
On thy peaceful bosom laid,
Grief shall cease, nor cares invade.
O! congenial power divine,
All my votive soul is thine!
Lead me with thy parent care,
Holy Nature, heavenly fair!
Stay thee, Stolberg! let me know
Where the willing child would go;
What is "Nature, heavenly fair"
But my God's peculiar care?
Ne'er to Nature's holy bed,
Softly sank a poet's head,
Till his darkling eye could see
OMNIPRESENT DEITY.
SWEETER than the fragrant flower
At evening's dewy close,
The will, united with the power,
To succor human woes.
And softer than the softest strain
Of music to the ear,
That placid joy we give, and gain,
By gratitude sincere!
The husbandman goes to his field,
What hopes his heart expand;
What calm delight his labors yield,
A harvest-from his hand.
A hand that providently throws,
Not dissipates in vain :
How neat his field! how clean it grows! What produce from each grain!
The nobler husbandry of mind,
And culture of the heart,
Shall this, with man, less favor find,
Less genuine joy impart?
O no!-Your goodness strikes a root
That dies not, nor decays;
And future life shall yield the fruit
That blossoms now in praise.
The youthful hopes that here expand
Their green and tender leaves,
Shall spread a plenty o'er the land,
In rich and yellow sheaves.
Thus a small bounty, well bestow'd,
May perfect heaven's high plan:
First daughter to the Love of God
Is charity to Man.
'Tis he who scatters blessings round, Adores his Maker best:
For him, whose life was mercy crown'd, The bed of death is blest.
FOUNTAIN of mercy! God of Love!
How rich thy bounties are;
The rolling seasons, as the move,
Proclaim thy constant care.
When in the bosom of the earth
The sower hid the grain,
Thy goodness mark'd its secret birth,
And sent the early rain.
The Spring's sweet influence was thine;
The plants in beauty grew;
Thou gavest refulgent suns to shine,
And mild refreshing dew.
These various mercies from above
Matured the swelling grain;
A kindly harvest crowns thy love,
And plenty fills the plain.
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