THE MOST EXTENSIVE
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A day of such serene enjoyment spent,
Were worth an age of splendid discontent.
A mother's love--how sweet the name!
What is a mother's love?
--A noble, pure and tender flame,
Enkindled from above,
To bless a heart of earthly mould;
The warmest love that can grow cold;
This is a mother's love.
Beyond this vale of tears
There is a life above,
Unmeasured by the flight of years;
And all that life is love.
Birds, the free tenants of earth, air, and ocean,
Their forms all symmetry, their motions grace,
In plumage delicate and beautiful,
Thick without burthen; close as fish's scales,
Or loose as full blown poppies on the gale;
With wings that seem as they'd a soul within them,
They bear their owners with such sweet en-chantment.
Counts his sure gains, and hurries back for more.
Dipp'd in the hues of sunset, wreath'd in zones,
The clouds are resting on their mountain-thrones;
One peak alone exalts its glacier crest,
A golden paradise, above the rest;
Thither the day with lingering steps retires,
And in its own blue element expires.
(Eternity) a moment standing still for ever.
Faith is the flame that lifts the sacrifice to heaven.
Gashed with honourable scars,
Low in Glory's lap they lie;
Though they fell, they fell like stars,
Streaming splendour through the sky.
His steps are beauty, and His presence light.
Home, kindred, friends, and country--these
Are ties with which we never part;
From clime to clime, o'er land and seas,
We bear them with us in our heart:
But, oh! 't is hard to feel resign'd,
When these must all be left behind!
I travel all the irksome night,
By ways to me unknown;
I travel, like a bird of flight,
Onward, and all alone.
My equal he will be again
Down in that cold oblivious gloom,
Where all the prostrate ranks of men
Crowd without fellowship, the tomb.
Mystery of waters, never slumbering sea!
Night is a lively masquerade of day.
O Thou by whom we come to God--
The Life, the Truth, the Way;
The path of prayer Thyself hast trod;
Lord, teach us how to pray.
Oh! when shall I visit the land of my birth,
The loveliest land on the face of the earth?
When shall I those scenes of affection explore,
Our forests, our fountains,
Our hamlets, our mountains,
With the pride of our mountains, the maid I adore?
Oh! when shall I dance on the daisy-white mead,
In the shade of an elm, to the sound of the reed?
Once every atom of this ground lived, breathed, and felt like me!
Prayer is the Christian's vital breath,
The Christian's native air;
His watchword at the gates of death,--
He enters heaven with prayer.
The dead are like the stars, by day
Withdrawn from mortal eye,
But not extinct, they hold their way
In glory through the sky:
Spirits from bondage thus set free,
Vanish amidst immensity.
Where human thought, like human sight,
Fails to pursue their trackless flight.
The dew-drop in the breeze of morn,
Trembling and sparkling on the thorn,
Falls to the ground, escapes the eye,
Yet mounts on sunbeams to the sky.
The flower of meekness on a stem of grace.
The purple heath and golden broom
On moory mountains catch the gale,
O'er lawns the lily sheds perfume,
The violet in the vale.
The soul, immortal as its sire, shall never die.
The upward glancing of an eye when none but God is near.
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