O God, according to thy
loving-kindness preserve me. Grant that I may yet be an humble
instrument in thy hand of doing something for the good of thy cause.
Forgive my numberless sins and at last receive me to glory.--July 20,
1852.
It is a lovely scene; the sun has set,
But left his glory in the western sky
Where daylight lingers, half regretful yet
That sombre Night, her sister, draweth nigh,
And one pale star just looketh from on high;
'Tis neither day nor night, but both have lent
Their own peculiar charms to please the eye,--
Declining day its sultry heat has spent,
And calm, refreshing night its grateful coolness lent.
The lake is sleeping--on its quiet breast
Are clouds of every tint the rainbows wear,
Some are in crimson, some in gold are dressed.
Oh, had I wings, like yonder birds of air,
How I would love to dip my pinions there,
Then mount exulting to the heavenly gate,--
A song of love and gratitude to bear
To Him who gives the lowly and the great,
In earth, and sea, and sky, so glorious an estate.
It is the time when angels are abroad
Upon their work of love and peace to men,--
Commissioned from the dazzling throne of God,
They come to earth as joyfully as when
The tidings ran o'er mountain and o'er glen,
"A son is born, a Saviour and a King,"--
For they have tidings glorious as then,
Since tokens from our risen Lord they bring,
That life has been secured, and death has lost its sting.
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