v.14,15
C. M.
Death and the resurrection.

Ye sons of pride, that hate the just
And trample on the poor,
When death has brought you down to dust,
Your pomp shall rise no more.

The last great day shall change the scene;
When will that hour appear?
When shall the just revive, and reign
O'er all that scorned them here?

God will my naked soul receive,
When sep'rate from the flesh;
And break the prison of the grave,
To raise my bones afresh.

Heav'n is my everlasting home,
Th' inheritance is sure:

v.23-87
C. M.
The way and end of the righteous and the wicked.

My God, the steps of pious men
Are ordered by thy will;
Though they should fall, they rise again,
Thy hand supports them still.

The Lord delights to see their ways,
Their virtue he approves;
He'll ne'er deprive them of his grace,
Nor leave the men he loves.

The heav'nly heritage is theirs,
Their portion and their home;
He feeds them now, and makes them heirs
Of blessings long to come.

Wait on the Lord, ye sons of men,

The folly of persecutors.

Are sinners now so senseless grown
That they the saints devour?
And never worship at thy throne,
Nor fear thine awful power?

Great God! appear to their surprise;
Reveal thy dreadful name;
Let them no more thy wrath despise,
Nor turn our hope to shame.

Dost thou not dwell among the just?
And yet our foes deride,
That we should make thy name our trust;
Great God! confound their pride.

O that the joyful day were come
To finish our distress!
When God shall bring his children home

The all-seeing God.

Lord, thou hast searched and seen me through,
Thine eye commands with piercing view
My rising and my resting hours,
My heart and flesh with all their powers.

My thoughts, before they are my own,
Are to my God distinctly known;
He knows the words I mean to speak
Ere from my op'ning lips they break.

Within thy circling power I stand;
On every side I find thy hand;
Awake, asleep, at home, abroad,
I am surrounded still with God.

Amazing knowledge, vast and great!

Family blessings.

O happy man, whose soul is filled
With zeal and reverent awe!
His lips to God their honors yield,
His life adorns the law.

A careful providence shall stand
And ever guard thy head,
Shall on the labors of thy hand
Its kindly blessings shed.

[Thy wife shall be a fruitful vine;
Thy children round thy board,
Each like a plant of honor shine,
And learn to fear the Lord.]

The Lord shall thy best hopes fulfil
For months and years to come;
The Lord, who dwells on Zion's hill,

Delight in Scripture; or, The word of God dwelling in us.

ver. 97

O how I love thy holy law!
'Tis daily my delight;
And thence my meditations draw
Divine advice by night.

ver. 148

My waking eyes prevent the day
To meditate thy word;
My soul with longing melts away
To hear thy gospel, Lord.

ver. 3,13,54

How doth thy word my heart engage!
How well employ my tongue!
And in my tiresome pilgrimage,
Yields me a heav'nly song.

ver. 19,103

Am I a stranger or at home,

v.1-7
L. M.
Blessing God for his goodness to soul and body.

Bless, O my soul, the living God,
Call home thy thoughts that rove abroad;
Let all the powers within me join
In work and worship so divine.

Bless, O my soul, the God of grace;
His favors claim thy highest praise:
Why should the wonders he hath wrought
Be lost in silence and forgot?

'Tis he, my soul, that sent his Son
To die for crimes which thou hast done;
He owns the ransom, and forgives
The hourly follies of our lives.

Prophets have honour all over the Earth,
Except in the village where they were born,
Where such as knew them boys from birth
Nature-ally hold 'em in scorn.
When Prophets are naughty and young and vain,
They make a won'erful grievance of it;
(You can see by their writings how they complain),
But 0, 'tis won'erful good for the Prophet!

There's nothing Nineveh Town can give
(Nor being swallowed by whales between),
Makes up for the place where a man's folk live,
Which don't care nothing what he has been.

The red-roofed house of dream design
Looks three ways on the sea;
For fifty years I've made it mine,
And held it part of me.
The pines I planted in my youth
Triumpantly are tall . . .
Yet now I know with sorry sooth
I have to leave it all.

Hard-hewn from out the living rock
And salty from the tide,
My house has braved the tempest shock
With hardihood and pride.
Each nook is memoried to me;
I've loved its every stone,
And cried to it exultantly:

Horace: Book III, Ode 3

"Carminis interea nostri redæmus in orbem---"


Let us return, then, for a time,
To our accustomed round of rhyme;
And let my songs' familiar art
Not fail to move my lady's heart.

They say that Orpheus with his lute
Had power to tame the wildest brute;
That "Vatiations on a Theme"
Of his would stay the swiftest stream.

They say that by the minstrel's song
Cithæron's rocks were moved along
To Thebes, where, as you may recall,
They formed themselves to frame a wall.