 | The powers of genius |  |
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A MIDNIGHT HYMN, TO DEITY.
How grand and awful is this midnight hour!
The world is still....and not a sound disturbs
The breeze that bathes its pinions in the dew.
The moon looks dimly down; the lowering clouds
Obscure her beams. The fleeting foot of Time
Moves swiftly on, and steals from sleeping man.
The solemn bell repeats another hour,
And gives it to the numbers that have pass'd.
I sit alone: But there's an' eye beholds me,
To which the darkness is the noon of day.
To thee my God, I give these solemn thoughts,
And seek thy spirit in the depths of night.
While rest the follies of a giddy world,
While all its scenes and all its noise are fled,
Truths strike the mind with more impressive force.
The world is still....and not a sound disturbs
The breeze that bathes its pinions in the dew.
The moon looks dimly down; the lowering clouds
Obscure her beams. The fleeting foot of Time
Moves swiftly on, and steals from sleeping man.
The solemn bell repeats another hour,
And gives it to the numbers that have pass'd.
I sit alone: But there's an' eye beholds me,
To which the darkness is the noon of day.
To thee my God, I give these solemn thoughts,
And seek thy spirit in the depths of night.
While rest the follies of a giddy world,
While all its scenes and all its noise are fled,
Truths strike the mind with more impressive force.
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Almighty Power in his eternal counsels,
Design'd a world the Theatre of Love.
He spoke; all nature hear'd his awful voice.
Design'd a world the Theatre of Love.
He spoke; all nature hear'd his awful voice.
The sun roll'd burning from the hand of God.
The vales and mountains spread beneath his beams;
And in their channels flowed the wandering waters.
The moonlight trembled thro' the shades of Eve,
And led the train of Night. Then joy arose.
The voice of Music lull'd the peaceful scene:
And thro' the thickets sang the hollow breeze.
The fragrant herb wav'd to the breath of morn.
The fowls of Heaven uprose upon the wing;
And the deep forest shelter'd in its arms
The Brutes that roam'd its haunts.
“Let us make man”....spoke then Almighty power,
In image like his God; “and let his rule
Be over earth, and all that earth contains.”
The vales and mountains spread beneath his beams;
And in their channels flowed the wandering waters.
The moonlight trembled thro' the shades of Eve,
And led the train of Night. Then joy arose.
The voice of Music lull'd the peaceful scene:
And thro' the thickets sang the hollow breeze.
The fragrant herb wav'd to the breath of morn.
The fowls of Heaven uprose upon the wing;
And the deep forest shelter'd in its arms
The Brutes that roam'd its haunts.
“Let us make man”....spoke then Almighty power,
In image like his God; “and let his rule
Be over earth, and all that earth contains.”
Then from the dust, see man to being rise,
Firm and erect, with eye upturn'd to Heaven,
He spurns the earth beneath him with his feet,
And sways his sceptre o'er the prostrate world.
Firm and erect, with eye upturn'd to Heaven,
He spurns the earth beneath him with his feet,
And sways his sceptre o'er the prostrate world.
Array'd in glory like his father God,
Man thus abode not....but from honour fell.
The gates of Paradise were closed against him,
Its shades no more would shelter his repose;
“Where came the voice of God at early morn.”
Its cooling stream would no more meet his lip,
Or babble to his ear. A dreary world,
Spread wide before his view, where toil and pain
Stood arm'd, to bear him on the road of life;
While o'er him howl'd the dark and angry sky.
Man thus abode not....but from honour fell.
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Its shades no more would shelter his repose;
“Where came the voice of God at early morn.”
Its cooling stream would no more meet his lip,
Or babble to his ear. A dreary world,
Spread wide before his view, where toil and pain
Stood arm'd, to bear him on the road of life;
While o'er him howl'd the dark and angry sky.
O son of morn....how art thou fall'n from Heaven
And all thy former splendour dim'd and lost!
And all thy former splendour dim'd and lost!
Man ruin'd in his first and high estate
Affords a subject gloomy to the soul.
The fall of angels was the fall of man.
“Shorn of his beams” the Sun, in dim eclipse,
Lends but a feeble lustre to the earth:
Or when he sinks beneath the western wave,
Pale Evening treads upon his burning footsteps
And brings grim Night to throw his mantle o'er
A sunken world, lock'd in a mimic death.
Thus on the morning of man's towering hopes,
Came the dark night of woe. His happiness
Is now a little bark thrown on the floods,
And toss'd and dash'd by wild tempestuous winds,
Affords a subject gloomy to the soul.
The fall of angels was the fall of man.
“Shorn of his beams” the Sun, in dim eclipse,
Lends but a feeble lustre to the earth:
Or when he sinks beneath the western wave,
Pale Evening treads upon his burning footsteps
And brings grim Night to throw his mantle o'er
A sunken world, lock'd in a mimic death.
Thus on the morning of man's towering hopes,
Came the dark night of woe. His happiness
Is now a little bark thrown on the floods,
And toss'd and dash'd by wild tempestuous winds,
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By Adam's disobedence earth was curs'd.
In Nature's garden thorns and thistles grew:
Chill o'er the vallies swept the howling blast,
The thunders roar'd....the earthquake shook the globe;
The mountains pour'd their streams of liquid fire,
And, like a Giant, fell Disease arose
And blew o'er earth his pestilential breath.
A train of evils followed on his steps;
There came Misfortune with his iron scythe
Dropping with human blood; there Envy stalk'd
And fan'd the flames of hell....fell Fury there
Yell'd to the winds and stamp'd the hollow ground;
Telling her sorrows to the listening Night,
There came wan Melancholy slowly on;
Folded her arms upon her heaving bosom,
Her face directed to the dewy moon.
There came Remorse absorb'd in gloomy thought:
There rush'd Despair....his dark eye roll'd in blood;
He tore the mantle from his raging breast,
And plung'd his dagger in his heart....There came
Poor Lunacy in tatter'd robes, and wav'd
A straw, and told the kingdoms which he rul'd.
Lastly came Death cloth'd in his night of terrors,
And clasp'd his victims in his shivering arms.
In Nature's garden thorns and thistles grew:
Chill o'er the vallies swept the howling blast,
The thunders roar'd....the earthquake shook the globe;
The mountains pour'd their streams of liquid fire,
And, like a Giant, fell Disease arose
And blew o'er earth his pestilential breath.
A train of evils followed on his steps;
There came Misfortune with his iron scythe
Dropping with human blood; there Envy stalk'd
And fan'd the flames of hell....fell Fury there
Yell'd to the winds and stamp'd the hollow ground;
Telling her sorrows to the listening Night,
There came wan Melancholy slowly on;
Folded her arms upon her heaving bosom,
Her face directed to the dewy moon.
There came Remorse absorb'd in gloomy thought:
There rush'd Despair....his dark eye roll'd in blood;
He tore the mantle from his raging breast,
And plung'd his dagger in his heart....There came
Poor Lunacy in tatter'd robes, and wav'd
A straw, and told the kingdoms which he rul'd.
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And clasp'd his victims in his shivering arms.
The heavy blow of Time strikes to the dust
The stately battlement, where Pride enthron'd
Laugh'd at long ages rolling o'er his head:
The blasts of Night pour thro' its vacant hall,
It totters o'er the ashes of its ruins,
And overlooks the dreary, boundless waste.
Decay is mark'd on all that earth contains.
We tread on ruins, and on human bones.
The stately battlement, where Pride enthron'd
Laugh'd at long ages rolling o'er his head:
The blasts of Night pour thro' its vacant hall,
It totters o'er the ashes of its ruins,
And overlooks the dreary, boundless waste.
Decay is mark'd on all that earth contains.
We tread on ruins, and on human bones.
The sun himself shall quench in time his beams,
And like the trembling taper in its socket
Shall die away, and bring no other morn.
And like the trembling taper in its socket
Shall die away, and bring no other morn.
How
sits the city dark and solitary,
Where people throng'd, and joy and tumult reign'd;
Like a lorn widow she in silence mourns
Her sons, her grandeur lost. The woeful night
She weeps; and morning rises on her tears.
How sits the city dark and solitary,
And buries all her honours in the grave.
Where people throng'd, and joy and tumult reign'd;
Like a lorn widow she in silence mourns
Her sons, her grandeur lost. The woeful night
She weeps; and morning rises on her tears.
How sits the city dark and solitary,
And buries all her honours in the grave.
A soul diseas'd, far more than mouldering matter,
Presents to man a spectacle of woe.
Say what is Babylon, low sunk in earth?
Or what Palmyra in the dreary waste,
To man in ruins? To the soul diseas'd,
The soul immortal, doom'd to joy or woe?
There once impress'd was God the Father's image;
But now that image is defac'd by sin.
O'er Greece's ruins once the traveller wept,
As he look'd back upon her former glory,
While o'er the world she held her sovereign sway,
And trampled tyrants underneath her feet.
Now sunk her honours, and her former fame
Lives in her records and her poet's song:
Her laurels flourish round her mouldering urn.
Presents to man a spectacle of woe.
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Or what Palmyra in the dreary waste,
To man in ruins? To the soul diseas'd,
The soul immortal, doom'd to joy or woe?
There once impress'd was God the Father's image;
But now that image is defac'd by sin.
O'er Greece's ruins once the traveller wept,
As he look'd back upon her former glory,
While o'er the world she held her sovereign sway,
And trampled tyrants underneath her feet.
Now sunk her honours, and her former fame
Lives in her records and her poet's song:
Her laurels flourish round her mouldering urn.
O hasty traveller thro' the vale of tears,
O stay thy step, and weep o'er wretched man!
Weep o'er those honours fall'n, fall'n so low;
Talk not of dignity, but humbly look
On him who died, that man might live again.
O stay thy step, and weep o'er wretched man!
Weep o'er those honours fall'n, fall'n so low;
Talk not of dignity, but humbly look
On him who died, that man might live again.
Away thou of an empty world,
Thou airy bubble gilded by the sun!
Come to my heart, thou sovereign hope of Heaven,
Reign o'er my actions and my wandering thoughts;
My bed of death illuminate; and lead
A son of sorrow to his father's home.
O what is life without the love of God,
Without the arm of Mercy to support
A sinner without strength. Eternity,
Thou ocean boundless, where the thought is lost,
Our years and ages are to thee unknown,
Thy moments are eternal: Time was not,
Thou didst exist; and thou shalt still move on
When time shall sweep his iron scythe no more.
O then receive me to thy arms my God!
Thou airy bubble gilded by the sun!
Come to my heart, thou sovereign hope of Heaven,
Reign o'er my actions and my wandering thoughts;
My bed of death illuminate; and lead
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O what is life without the love of God,
Without the arm of Mercy to support
A sinner without strength. Eternity,
Thou ocean boundless, where the thought is lost,
Our years and ages are to thee unknown,
Thy moments are eternal: Time was not,
Thou didst exist; and thou shalt still move on
When time shall sweep his iron scythe no more.
O then receive me to thy arms my God!
Upon a cross, behold the king of glory,
The man who dies for a rebellious world,
Who from an heart still warm with love divine,
Pours on the earth his blood; who dies in mercy,
That man might live beneath his father's smile.
The man who dies for a rebellious world,
Who from an heart still warm with love divine,
Pours on the earth his blood; who dies in mercy,
That man might live beneath his father's smile.
The wrath of God here centres on the head
Of his anointed son. The eyes of heaven
Behold in wonder this triumphant scene.
Bright seraphs burning round Jehovah's throne,
Strike their full harps and chant redeeming grace.
Of his anointed son. The eyes of heaven
Behold in wonder this triumphant scene.
Bright seraphs burning round Jehovah's throne,
Strike their full harps and chant redeeming grace.
Dark rose the hill where stood the Saviour's cross
The scene of love; and blackest deed of hell.
Where erst the father of the faithful, bound
His son (so 'tis believ'd) by God's command
The scene of love; and blackest deed of hell.
Where erst the father of the faithful, bound
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Surrounding armies aw'd the multitude,
And Rome appear'd in her assembled hosts.
Dim by the Cross stalk'd Cruelty and Rage,
And pierc'd the Saviour's bosom with their sting.
Fell mockery breath'd its most reproachful taunts,
And shouts of exultation rent the air.
And Rome appear'd in her assembled hosts.
Dim by the Cross stalk'd Cruelty and Rage,
And pierc'd the Saviour's bosom with their sting.
Fell mockery breath'd its most reproachful taunts,
And shouts of exultation rent the air.
Serene, conspicuous hung the dying God.
His sacred head is pierc'd with horrid thorns.
His arms are nail'd to the accursed tree.
His bosom opened by a Soldier's spear.
No curse, or threatening pass his placid lips;
He prays for blessings on the murderer's head.
Father have mercy! on my thoughtless foes,
Have mercy God! they know not what they do.
His sacred head is pierc'd with horrid thorns.
His arms are nail'd to the accursed tree.
His bosom opened by a Soldier's spear.
No curse, or threatening pass his placid lips;
He prays for blessings on the murderer's head.
Father have mercy! on my thoughtless foes,
Have mercy God! they know not what they do.
'Tis finish'd....cries the Saviour, while he dies,
And yields his spirit to his Father's hands.
Nature beheld the awful scene with dread.
The source of Being dying on the cross,
Surpass'd conception of Almighty love.
The sun grew dim, dark shadows quench'd his beam,
And Night's thick mantle fell upon the world;
An earthquake shook the globe; the rocks are cleft,
The temple's veil is rent in twain; the dead
Awake, arise and leave their darksome graves.
And yields his spirit to his Father's hands.
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The source of Being dying on the cross,
Surpass'd conception of Almighty love.
The sun grew dim, dark shadows quench'd his beam,
And Night's thick mantle fell upon the world;
An earthquake shook the globe; the rocks are cleft,
The temple's veil is rent in twain; the dead
Awake, arise and leave their darksome graves.
The mighty work of Christ is now perform'd.
A world is ransom'd from the depths of woe.
Justice has sheath'd the dreadful sword of wrath;
And God is reconcil'd with sinful man.
The weary traveller now rests in peace;
The Saviour rests lock'd in the arms of Death;
His pulse has ceas'd to beat: the clotted gore
Hangs thick and cold upon his face and breast.
Lift up your heads ye everlasting doors,
And let the king of Glory enter in!
A world is ransom'd from the depths of woe.
Justice has sheath'd the dreadful sword of wrath;
And God is reconcil'd with sinful man.
The weary traveller now rests in peace;
The Saviour rests lock'd in the arms of Death;
His pulse has ceas'd to beat: the clotted gore
Hangs thick and cold upon his face and breast.
Lift up your heads ye everlasting doors,
And let the king of Glory enter in!
The Saviour rests; the tomb receives his prey
With chilling arms. The voice of mockery,
The taunt of malice, and the shout of triumph
Strike on his ear no more. That eye which look'd
Thro' painful life, and pity'd with a tear,
Is seal'd in night. And clos'd the listening ear
Which never heard affliction plead in vain.
Those arms lie lifeless, which so often rais'd
Implor'd for mercy on a wretched world.
The Saviour sleeps—the traveller rests in peace.
'Twas love divine that drew him down from heaven.
'Twas love divine that bade our Saviour die,
Love for a world, a lost rebellious world;
Who met his gracious embassy with scorn.
With chilling arms. The voice of mockery,
The taunt of malice, and the shout of triumph
Strike on his ear no more. That eye which look'd
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Is seal'd in night. And clos'd the listening ear
Which never heard affliction plead in vain.
Those arms lie lifeless, which so often rais'd
Implor'd for mercy on a wretched world.
The Saviour sleeps—the traveller rests in peace.
'Twas love divine that drew him down from heaven.
'Twas love divine that bade our Saviour die,
Love for a world, a lost rebellious world;
Who met his gracious embassy with scorn.
Long had he journey'd on a rugged road,
And knew not where to rest his weary head.
Rage and Derision hung upon his footsteps.
His friends were few—his joys were fewer still;
His face was care, without one mingled smile.
The object of his mission was to suffer,
And Sorrow wrapt him in her deepest night.
He trod in wretchedness this scene of life;
For man, for whom he suffered, was to bear
His heavy load of guilt—and die the death;
And Jesus meant his life a great example
To all who live, in all that's great and good.
And knew not where to rest his weary head.
Rage and Derision hung upon his footsteps.
His friends were few—his joys were fewer still;
His face was care, without one mingled smile.
The object of his mission was to suffer,
And Sorrow wrapt him in her deepest night.
He trod in wretchedness this scene of life;
For man, for whom he suffered, was to bear
His heavy load of guilt—and die the death;
And Jesus meant his life a great example
To all who live, in all that's great and good.
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The shade of sorrow is the field of glory:
Calamity breathes on the seeds of Virtue.
He who has never known the woe-worn thought,
Who always glides o'er the unruffled stream,
Could never stem the ocean, lash'd by winds,
Or brave his rolling billows after storms.
Calamity breathes on the seeds of Virtue.
He who has never known the woe-worn thought,
Who always glides o'er the unruffled stream,
Could never stem the ocean, lash'd by winds,
Or brave his rolling billows after storms.
Thou God of Nature, and thou God of Love
Who form'd this world, who bade those planets roll,
Who call'd all Being from the womb of Night,
Accept my song, and tune my heart to praise;
O breathe thy Spirit in the souls of men,
And send thy Gospel to the darkened world.
How far beneath thy majesty divine,
Is every tribute from a mortal's lyre.
Those spheres which move in harmony above,
Whose silver lustre slumbers on the earth,
Shall give thee nobler strains. The Seraph's harp
Shall raise the song of Glory to the Lamb
And universal Nature sound thy praise.
Who form'd this world, who bade those planets roll,
Who call'd all Being from the womb of Night,
Accept my song, and tune my heart to praise;
O breathe thy Spirit in the souls of men,
And send thy Gospel to the darkened world.
How far beneath thy majesty divine,
Is every tribute from a mortal's lyre.
Those spheres which move in harmony above,
Whose silver lustre slumbers on the earth,
Shall give thee nobler strains. The Seraph's harp
Shall raise the song of Glory to the Lamb
And universal Nature sound thy praise.
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