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O blest restraint! more blessed range!
His nook of homely thought will change
Too soon his alter'd day dreams shew
With sun-bright pleasures to and fro
While of his narrowing heart each year,
It must be so: else wherefore falls
While from His pardoning Cross He calls, "O spare as I have spar'd ?"
By our own niggard rule we try
The hope to suppliants given; We mete out love, as if our eye Saw to the end of heaven.
Yes, ransom'd sinner! wouldst thou know
How often to forgive,
How dearly to embrace thy foe,
Look where thou hop'st to live:
When thou hast told those isles of light,
Then in their solemn pageant learn
TWENTY-THIRD SUNDAY AFTER
Who shall change our vile body, that it may be fashioned like unto His glorious body, according to the working whereby He is able even to subdue all things unto Himself. Philippians iii. 21.
RED o'er the forest peers the setting sun,
The line of yellow light dies fast away
That crown'd the eastern copse: and chill and dun Falls on the moor the brief November day.
Now the tir'd hunter winds a parting note,
And Echo bids good-night from every glade; Yet wait awhile, and see the calm leaves float Each to his rest beneath their parent shade.
How like decaying life they seem to glide!
Is all their portion, and they ask no more.
Soon o'er their heads blithe April airs shall sing,
A thousand wild-flowers round them shall unfold, The green buds glisten in the dews of Spring, And all be vernal rapture as of old.
Unconscious they in waste oblivion lie,
No thought of them; in all the bounteous sky
Man's portion is to die and rise again—
Yet he complains, while these unmurmuring part With their sweet lives, as pure from sin and stain, As his when Eden held his virgin heart.
And haply half unblam'd his murmuring voice
For dreary were this earth, if earth were all, Though brighten'd oft by dear affection's kiss ;
Who for the spangles wears the funeral pall?
But catch a gleam beyond it, and 'tis bliss.
Heavy and dull this frame of limbs and heart,
O'er wave or field: yet breezes laugh to scorn
Our puny speed, and birds, and clouds in heaven,
And fish, like living shafts that pierce the main, And stars that shoot through freezing air at evenWho but would follow, might he break his chain?
And thou shalt break it soon; the groveling worm
When from the grave He sprung at dawn of morn,
And led through boundless air thy conquering road, Leaving a glorious track, where saints new-born
Might fearless follow to their blest abode.
But first, by many a stern and fiery blast
The world's rude furnace must thy blood refine,
And many a gale of keenest woe be pass'd,
Till every pulse beat true to airs divine,