What does she in this weary earth?
Should Wealth, or Fame, our Life employ, Death comes, our labour to destroy;To snatch the untasted cup away, For which we toiled so many a day.
What, then, remains for wretched man?
To use life's comforts while he can, Enjoy the blessings Heaven bestows, Assist his friends, forgive his foes;Trust God, and keep His statutes still, Upright and firm, through good and ill;Thankful for all that God has given, Fixing his firmest hopes on Heaven;Knowing that earthly joys decay, But hoping through the darkest day.
THE PENITENT.
I mourn with thee, and yet rejoice That thou shouldst sorrow so;With angel choirs I join my voice To bless the sinner's woe.
Though friends and kindred turn away, And laugh thy grief to scorn;I hear the great Redeemer say, "Blessed are ye that mourn."
Hold on thy course, nor deem it strange That earthly cords are riven:
Man may lament the wondrous change, But "there is joy in heaven!"
MUSIC ON CHRISTMAS MORNING.
Music I love--but never strain Could kindle raptures so divine, So grief assuage, so conquer pain, And rouse this pensive heart of mine--
As that we hear on Christmas morn, Upon the wintry breezes borne.
Though Darkness still her empire keep, And hours must pass, ere morning break;From troubled dreams, or slumbers deep, That music KINDLY bids us wake:
It calls us, with an angel's voice, To wake, and worship, and rejoice;To greet with joy the glorious morn, Which angels welcomed long ago, When our redeeming Lord was born, To bring the light of Heaven below;The Powers of Darkness to dispel, And rescue Earth from Death and Hell.
While listening to that sacred strain, My raptured spirit soars on high;I seem to hear those songs again Resounding through the open sky, That kindled such divine delight, In those who watched their flocks by night.
With them I celebrate His birth--