My God, how perfect are Thy ways! But mine polluted are; Sin twines itself about my praise, And slides into my prayer. When I would speak what Thou hast…

Of all the gifts Thine hand besto… Thou Giver of all good! Not heaven itself a richer knows Than my Redeemer’s blood. Faith too, the blood-receiving gra…

A noble theme demands a noble vers… In such I thank you for your fine… The barrel was magnificently large… But, being sent to Olney at free… Was not inserted in the driver’s l…

Ease is the weary merchant’s praye… Who ploughs by night the Ægean flo… When neither moon nor stars appear… Or faintly glimmer through the clo… For ease the Mede with quiver gra…

Christina, maiden of heroic mien! Star of the North! of northern st… Behold, what wrinkles I have earn… The iron cask still chafes my vet’… While following fate’s dark footst…

Airy del Castro was as bold a kni… As ever earned a lady’s love in fi… Many he sought, but one above the… His tender heart victoriously impr… In fairy land was born the matchle…

(Isaiah, IX. 15-20) Hear what God the Lord hath spoke… “O my people, faint and few, Comfortless, afflicted, broken, Fair abodes I build for you.

How bless’d Thy creature is, O G… When with a single eye, He views the lustre of Thy Word, The dayspring from on high! Through all the storms that veil t…

Here lies one who never drew Blood himself, yet many slew; Gave the gun its aim, and figure Made in field, yet ne’er pulled tr… Armed men have gladly made

The new-born child of gospel grace… Like some fair tree when summer’s… Beneath Emmanuel’s shining face Lifts up his blooming branch on hi… No fears he feels, he sees no foes…

These are not dew-drops, these are… And tears by Sally shed For absent Robin, who she fears With too much cause, is dead. One morn he came not to her hand

The Bard, if e’er he feel at all, Must sure be quickened by a call Both on his heart and head, To pay with tuneful thanks the car… And kindness of a lady fair

(Matthew, XIII.3) Ye sons of earth prepare the ploug… Break up your fallow ground; The sower is gone forth to sow, And scatter blessings round.

Strophe I My two-fold Book! single in show But double in Contents, Neat, but not curiously adorn’d Which in his early youth,

A. You told me, I remember, glory… On selfish principles, is shame an… The deeds that men admire as half… Stark naught, because corrupt in t… Strange doctrine this! that withou…