Could from our best of duties ever shrink? Sooner the sun from his high sphere should sink Or shun thee, tottering on the grave's cold brink. YES, 'twill be over soon.-This sickly dream Yon landscape smile,-yon golden harvest grow, Yon sprightly lark on mounting wing will soar When Henry's name is heard no more below. I sigh when all my youthful friends caress, They laugh in health, and future evils brave; Them shall a wife and smiling children bless, While I am mouldering in my silent grave. God of the just-Thou gavest the bitter cup; I bow to thy behest, and drink it up. TO CONSUMPTION. GENTLY, most gently, on thy victim's head, Of death, to those good men who fall thy prey, Whisper the solemn warning in mine ear: That I may bid my weeping friends good-by Ere I depart upon my journey drear: And, smiling faintly on the painful past, Compose my decent head, and breathe my last. TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH OF M. DESBARREAUX. THY judgments, Lord, are just; thou lov'st to wear Thy will be done-since 'tis thy glory's due, Did from mine eyes the endless torrents flow; Smite-it is time-though endless death ensue, I bless the avenging hand that lays me low. But on what spot shall fall thine anger's flood, That has not first been drench'd in Christ's atoning blood? HYMN. The Lord our God is clothed with might, He speaks, and in his heavenly height, Rebel, ye waves-and o'er the land With threatening aspect roar! Howl, winds of night! your force combine! Ye shall not, in the mountain pine, His voice sublime is heard afar, Ye nations, bend-in reverence bend; To celebrate our God. HYMN. THE Lord our God is Lord of all, If in the gloom of night I shroud, He lives, he reigns in every land, He smiles, we live; he frowns, we die; He bids his blasts the fields deform- Thy will be done-since 'tis thy glory's due, I bless the avenging hand that lays me low. But on what spot shall fall thine anger's flood, That has not first been drench'd in Christ's atoning blood? HYMN. The Lord our God is clothed with might, He speaks, and in his heavenly height, Rebel, ye waves-and o'er the land With threatening aspect roar ! Howl, winds of night! your force combine! Ye shall not, in the mountain pine, His voice sublime is heard afar, Ye nations, bend-in reverence bend; To celebrate our God. |