Winter: A Dirge.
The wintry west extends
his blast,
And hail and rain does
blaw;
Or the stormy north
sends driving forth
The blinding sleet and
snaw:
While, tumbling brown,
the burn comes down,
And roars frae bank
to brae;
And bird and beast in
covert rest,
And pass the heartless
day.
“The sweeping
blast, the sky o’ercast,”
The joyless winter day
Let others fear, to
me more dear
Than all the pride of
May:
The tempest’s
howl, it soothes my soul,
My griefs it seems to
join;
The leafless trees my
fancy please,
Their fate resembles
mine!
Thou Power Supreme,
whose mighty scheme
These woes of mine fulfil,
Here firm I rest; they
must be best,
Because they are Thy
will!
Then all I want O
do Thou grant
This one request of
mine!
Since to enjoy Thou
dost deny,
Assist me to resign.
Prayer, Under The Pressure Of Violent
Anguish.
O Thou Great Being!
what Thou art,
Surpasses me to know;
Yet sure I am, that
known to Thee
Are all Thy works below.
Thy creature here before
Thee stands,
All wretched and distrest;
Yet sure those ills
that wring my soul
Obey Thy high behest.
Sure, Thou, Almighty,
canst not act
From cruelty or wrath!
O, free my weary eyes
from tears,
Or close them fast in
death!
But, if I must afflicted
be,
To suit some wise design,
Then man my soul with
firm resolves,
To bear and not repine!
Paraphrase Of The First Psalm.
The man, in life wherever
plac’d,
Hath happiness in store,
Who walks not in the
wicked’s way,
Nor learns their guilty
lore!
Nor from the seat of
scornful pride
Casts forth his eyes
abroad,
But with humility and
awe
Still walks before his
God.
That man shall flourish
like the trees,
Which by the streamlets
grow;
The fruitful top is
spread on high,
And firm the root below.
But he whose blossom
buds in guilt
Shall to the ground
be cast,
And, like the rootless
stubble, tost
Before the sweeping
blast.
For why? that God the
good adore,
Hath giv’n them
peace and rest,
But hath decreed that
wicked men
Shall ne’er be
truly blest.
First Six Verses Of The Ninetieth
Psalm Versified, The.
O Thou, the first, the
greatest friend
Of all the human race!
Whose strong right hand
has ever been
Their stay and dwelling
place!
Before the mountains
heav’d their heads
Beneath Thy forming
hand,
Before this ponderous
globe itself
Arose at Thy command;
That Pow’r which
rais’d and still upholds
This universal frame,
From countless, unbeginning
time
Was ever still the same.
Those mighty periods
of years
Which seem to us so
vast,
Appear no more before
Thy sight
Than yesterday that’s
past.
Thou giv’st the
word: Thy creature, man,
Is to existence brought;
Again Thou say’st,
“Ye sons of men,
Return ye into nought!”
Thou layest them, with
all their cares,
In everlasting sleep;
As with a flood Thou
tak’st them off
With overwhelming sweep.
They flourish like the
morning flow’r,
In beauty’s pride
array’d;
But long ere night cut
down it lies
All wither’d and
decay’d.
Prayer, In The Prospect Of Death.
O Thou unknown, Almighty
Cause
Of all my hope and fear!
In whose dread presence,
ere an hour,
Perhaps I must appear!
If I have wander’d
in those paths
Of life I ought to shun,
As something, loudly,
in my breast,
Remonstrates I have
done;
Thou know’st that
Thou hast formed me
With passions wild and
strong;
And list’ning
to their witching voice
Has often led me wrong.
Where human weakness
has come short,
Or frailty stept aside,
Do Thou, All-Good for
such Thou art
In shades of darkness
hide.
Where with intention
I have err’d,
No other plea I have,
But, Thou art good;
and Goodness still
Delighteth to forgive.
Stanzas, On The Same Occasion.
Why am I loth to leave
this earthly scene?
Have I so found it full
of pleasing charms?
Some drops of joy with
draughts of ill between
Some gleams of sunshine
’mid renewing storms,
Is it departing pangs
my soul alarms?
Or death’s unlovely,
dreary, dark abode?
For guilt, for guilt,
my terrors are in arms:
I tremble to approach
an angry God,
And justly smart beneath
His sin-avenging rod.
Fain would I say, “Forgive
my foul offence,”
Fain promise never more
to disobey;
But, should my Author
health again dispense,
Again I might desert
fair virtue’s way;
Again in folly’s
part might go astray;
Again exalt the brute
and sink the man;
Then how should I for
heavenly mercy pray
Who act so counter heavenly
mercy’s plan?
Who sin so oft have
mourn’d, yet to temptation ran?
O Thou, great Governor
of all below!
If I may dare a lifted
eye to Thee,
Thy nod can make the
tempest cease to blow,
Or still the tumult
of the raging sea:
With that controlling
pow’r assist ev’n me,
Those headlong furious
passions to confine,
For all unfit I feel
my pow’rs to be,
To rule their torrent
in th’ allowed line;
O, aid me with Thy help,
Omnipotence Divine!