The lapse of time and rivers is th… Both speed their journey with a re… The silent pace, with which they s… No wealth can bribe, no prayers pe… Alike irrevocable both when past,

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…

My heart is easy, and my burden li… I smile, though sad, when thou art… The more my woes in secret I depl… I taste thy goodness, and I love… There, while a solemn stillness re…

Thou hast no lightnings, O thou J… Or I their force should know; And, if thou strike me into dust, My soul approves the blow. The heart, that values less its ea…

Maria, could Horace have guessed What honour awaited his ode To his little volume addressed, The honour which you have bestowed… Who have traced it in characters h…

Traveller, regret not me; for thou… Just cause of sorrow none in my de… Who, dying, children’s children le… And with one wife lived many a yea… Three virtuous youths espoused my…

My rose, Gravina, blooms anew; And steeped not now in rain, But in Castalian streams by you, Will never fade again.

Boy! I detest all Persian fopperi… Fillet-bound garlands are to me di… Task not thyself with any search,… Where latest roses linger. Bring me alone (for thou wilt find…

Jesus! where’er Thy people meet, There they behold Thy mercy seat; Where’er they seek Thee, Thou art… And every place is hallow’d ground… For Thou, within no walls confine…

Two Poets, (poets, by report, Not oft so well agree,) Sweet harmonist of Flora’s court! Conspire to honour thee. They best can judge a poet’s worth…

Still, still, without ceasing, I feel it increasing, This fervour of holy desire; And often exclaim, Let me die in the flame

O God, whose favorable eye, The sin-sick soul revives, Holy and heavenly is the joy Thy shining presence gives. Not such as hypocrites suppose,

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…

Heal us, Emmanuel! here we are, Waiting to feel Thy touch: Deep-wounded souls to Thee repair And, Saviour, we are such. Our faith is feeble, we confess,

My halting Muse, that dragg’st by… Thy slow, slow step, in melancholy… And lik’st that pace expressive of… Not less than Diopeia’s sprightli… When in the dance she beats with m…