Night is the time to watch; O'er ocean's dark expanse, To aid the Pleiades, or catch
The full moon's earliest glance, That brings into the home-sick mind All we have loved and left behind.
Night is the time for care
Brooding on hours mis-spent, To see the spectre of Despair Come to our lonely tent;
Like Brutus, 'midst his slumbering host, Summon'd to die by Cæsar's ghost.
Night is the time to think;
When, from the eye, the soul
Takes flight, and, on the utmost brink Of yonder starry pole, Discerns beyond the abyss of night The dawn of uncreated light.
Night is the time to pray;
Our Saviour oft withdrew To desert mountains far away;
So will his follower do,
Steal from the throng to haunts untrod, And commune there alone with God.
Night is the time for death;
When all around is peace
Calmly to yield the weary breath, From sin and suffering cease,
Think of Heaven's bliss, and give the sign To parting friends;-such death be mine.
WHEN marshall'd on the nightly plain, The glittering host bestud the sky; One star alone, of all the train,
Can fix the sinner's wandering eye.
Hark! hark! to God the chorus breaks, From every host, from every gem; But one alone the Saviour speaks, It is the star of Bethlehem.
Once on the raging seas I rode,
The storm was loud, the night was dark, The ocean yawn'd-and rudely blow'd
The wind that toss'd my foundering bark.
Deep horror then my vitals froze, Death-struck, I ceas'd the tide to stem; When suddenly a star arose,
It was the star of Bethlehem.
It was my guide, my light, my all,
It bade my dark forebodings cease; And through the storm and danger's thrall, It led me to the port of peace.
Now safely moor'd-my perils o'er, I'll sing, first in night's diadem,
For ever and for evermore,
The star! the star of Bethlehem!
O FATHER! raise me from these clouds of time, My soul is darken'd with its doubts and fears; Bless and exalt me with those hopes sublime, Which still are brightening through eternal years. For I am but of dust; my largest thought Can scarcely reach beyond this speck of earth, Senseless alike my sorrow and my mirth; I weep-yet know not how a tear is wrought; I smile and yet am ignorance and clay; O thou great Being, who hast form'd my spirit, Console me, teach me how I may inherit The heaven thou offerest, thine eternal day. Rouse all my drooping faculties; for thee I fain would kindle heart, and mind, and soul. Alas! what am I? as my brief years roll, How vain the aim to reach infinity,
To know Omniscience; yet I can believe That thou, O God! art Glory, Light, and Love; Some shadow of thy attributes conceive, In every daily mercy that I prove.
Yes! not a sunbeam meets my raptured eye, And not a breeze plays softly on my cheek, And not a pale star lights the evening sky, But of thy glory to my soul they speak; And oft as morn, with pure, reviving gale, And night with shades of beauty, and repose, Bring their sweet change, O how my rapt heart glows, Thy care, thy love, thy guardian power to hail.
And thus indeed I know thee-ever feeling Eternal tenderness, unbounded blessing; Whether I smile or weep, alike possessing My life in kindness, still alike revealing Good, good in every thing; yes-even these tears Are nature's blest relief, and they may turn To gems of light in those immortal spheres Where love is understood, and angels never mourn.
SHE bowed her head before the throne
Of the eternal King
The sun upon her forehead shone With the first light of spring; In meekness and in love she stood, A thing of mortal care;
But pure and strong is womanhood In faithfulness and prayer.
She had been chastened with that woe The young heart, in its pride, Ill bears when wakening from the glow Love's happy dreams supplied; But she had in her weakness sought The Spirit's strength and food; And faith within her soul had wrought A deep and fervent mood.
The people of her fathers' land
Had left their onward path;
And God had raised his threatening hand Against them in his wrath;
Her voice arose with theirs-the few Who still were faithful there; And peace was given, and healing dew, To woman's voice of prayer.
The king sat in his purple state,
And power-dominion-robed ; But there was darkness in his fate, His sick'ning heart was probed; And priest and peer their vows preferr'd With quick and courtier care; But whose on high was soonest heard? Sad woman's lonely prayer.
Wild war was raging-proudly rose The chieftains of the realm;
And thousands met their country's foes With spear and crested helm- And thousands fell, and wrathful men Raged in their mad despair; What heard the God of battles then? Meek woman's secret prayer.
Oh! strong is woman in the
Of loveliness and youth;
And rich in her heart's treasured dower Of strong, unchanging truth; But who may tell her spirit's might, Above what strength may dare, When in life's troubles and its night Her heart is bowed in prayer?
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