Behold! sad emblems of thy state, When chill the blast of winter blows, The flowers resign their sunny robes, Nipt by the year, the forest fades ; The winter past, reviving flowers The woods shall hear the voice of spring, But man departs this earthly scene, Ah! never to return: No second spring shall e'er revive The inexorable gates of death, What hand can e'er unfold? Who from the cerements of the tomb The mighty flood that rolls along The days, the years, the ages, dark Descending down to night, Can never, never be redeemed Back to the gates of light. 1 "So man departs the living scene The voice of morning ne'er shall break "Where are our fathers? whither gone The mighty men of old? The patriarchs, prophets, priests, and kings, "Gone to the resting-place of man, Where ages past have gone before, Thus Nature poured the wail of woe, And urged her earnest cry; Her voice in agony extreme Ascended to the sky. The Almighty heard: then from his throne In majesty He rose; And from the heaven that opened wide, "When mortal man resigns his breath, The soul, immortal, wings its flight "Prepared of old for wicked men, VOL. II. 6 "At last, my arms embrace my Lord, At last my eyes my Saviour see, "The star and glory of the land, The morning that shall gild the globe THE PRAYER OF JACOB. O GOD of Bethel! by whose hand Thy people still are fed; Who through this weary pilgrimage, Our vows, our prayers, we now present God of our fathers, be the God Through each perplexing path of life Our wandering footsteps guide; Give us each day our daily bread, And raiment fit provide. Oh! spread thy covering wings around, Such blessings from thy gracious hand And portion evermore. HYMN. THE rush may rise where waters flow, But soon their verdure fades and dies So is the sinner's hope cut off; "Tis like the spider's airy web, From every breath that flies. Fixed on his house he leans his house, And all its props decay; He holds it fast; but, while he holds, Fair, in his garden, to the sun, His boughs with verdure smile; And deeply fixed his spreading roots, Unshaken stand awhile. But forth the sentence flies from heaven, Lo! this the joy of wicked men, But, for the just, with gracious care, |