But lo, revolting Israel's seed, In Horeb, as we're told, Had during Moses' absence made, A calf of molten gold; Such folly made his griev'd heart ache, With pangs till then unknown, And down he threw at once, and brake The "Tables made of stone!"
Though ours be not such flagrant sins, But lie perhaps conceal'd, The day is coming when all things, Now hid shall be reveal'd: And some we have great cause to fear, If they the truth would own, Have little gods which they revere Of gold, or precious stone.
When once through Israel's armies brave, The boasting challenge ran, When great Goliath sent to Saul, To find him out a man, Who would in single combat fight, Till one should be o'erthrown, How little did he think that day Of falling by a stone!
With steps that made the earth to bend, And spirit swell'd with pride, He boasting shook his greaves of brass, And Israel's God defied.
From Jesse's loins a stripling sprung, Who made the monster groan, When from the whirling sling he threw, The feeble,-fatal stone!
Proud armies have been overthrown, And cities sack'd within, And towers and temples broken down, The sad effects of sin:- And once an Angel did foreshow, The fall of Babylon, When in the heaving deep he threw, A great and mighty stone!
When David's highly favour'd son, His temple first began, They from the mountains brought a stone, Which seem'd a pest to man: The masons view'd it o'er and o'er, But oft with haughty scorn, Rejected it, and roll'd aside This strange, unshapely stone!
From first to last it tumbling lay, An object of disdain, Till time, upon a certain day, The mystery did explain.
The last, and loftiest pinnacle, To finish and adorn They sought, but none would do so well As this rejected stone!
A finer building ne'er was seen, By any mortal eye, The timbrels rung, and Israel sung, And old men wept for joy.
And having thus their temple rear'd Themselves are forc'd to own, That which the builders once refus'd Is now the Corner Stone!
'Tis thus Jehovah's favour'd sons, With hearts by grace refined, Are all compar'd to living stones, For nobler ends design'd.
Thus he the mighty structure rears, And perfects them in one, A glorious Church,-and JESUS is The chief, the corner stone!
A stone by Daniel was perceiv'd, And still the record stands, Which from the mountains should proceed, Cut out as without hands; Whose dignity should greater grow, And mighty Kings dethrone, Till all the earth be fill'd below, With this amazing stone!
So "in due time God sent his Son,"
According to His word, Whose sacred mission was begun, And seal'd with precious blood; Who, while He dwelt on earth below, Did make salvation known, And caus'd His heavenly love to flow In hearts once hard as stone!
But Pharisees and cruel Jews, Did seek from day to day, This holy person to abuse, To persecute and slay.
But God did give his Angels charge, O'er his anointed one, Lest he at any time should dash His foot against a stone!
At length his faithfulness to prove, He for the world must die, And power was given to wicked men, The Lord to crucify.
The sun was dark at that event, And with His dying groan, Earth trembled! and the rocks were rent,- The rocks of solid stone!
His enemies still follow'd Him, When He lay in the grave Hewn in the rock, for Joseph's tomb, Who did His body crave: Lest He their projects should destroy, And they be overthrown, They shut him in, and set a guard, And seal'd the mighty stone!
But Roman bands could not confine The Saviour to His cell, He manifests His power divine, In spite of Earth and Hell: The Father "owns His suffering Son,"
Nor leaves Him then alone, For lo! "an Angel comes by night, And rolls away the stone!"
He rises to men's wond'ring view, And triumphs o'er His foes, And proves the blessed record true, Though sin and death oppose: In glorious majesty He reigns, On his exalted throne, And still He power on earth retains, To soften hearts of stone!
To those who overcome through Him, A stone, and a new name He gives, which none can read but they, Nor understand the same.
And they shall share His joys divine, Seated on glittering thrones, And walk those streets whose pavements shine Like gold, or precious stones!
TO THE RISING SUN! ON A FROSTY MORNING.
Hail glorious Sun! bright regent of the day; Gladly I welcome thine all cheering ray: 'Midst frost and snow, a visit thus from thee, Sets each numb toe and frozen finger free!
Bright emblem of the Majesty on high, Who lives and reigns, the Lord of earth and sky!
Before thy face the hailstones melt away, And thy glad light turns darkness into day.
Oft moving down the sloping dale I've eyed, Thy golden radiance from the mountain side; Have often long'd upon yon hills to be, To catch a comfortable ray from thee.
Now chill November's breath is cold and keen, The trees around have lost their lovely green, While horned cattle from the mountains roam, And for their masters low, to take them home.
The early plough boy stops to clap his hands, The tender female dances where she stands; While I, half starv'd, have thought thy coming long, But now I hail thee welcome with a song!
'Tis said in heathen lands they worship thee, When o'er the mountain tops thy light they see: But as thou here no homage dost receive, I to thy Maker all the glory give.
His face, like thine, the drooping sinner cheers, Oppress'd with guilt, and overwhelm'd with fears: A ray from thee, O uncreated Sun, Breaks up, and makes long frozen fountains run!
Thou, from thyself, the soul to purify, Dost pour the living water from on high, Which if it doth within the soul remain, The sinner's heart shall never freeze again!
Yes! he who daily drinks of this pure wave, For sensual pleasure shall no relish have, But calm amidst the turbulence of life, Shall dwell for ever free from care and strife.
Shine, glorious Sun! thy blessings richly pour, And cheer our fallen world from hour to hour!
With thy glad beams, O visit every vale, 'Till every starving soul thine influence feel!
LINES IN MEMORY OF THE REV. D. DUCK, CURATE OF DANBY.
Yes! Daniel, faithful Daniel's gone, His weeping flock lament their loss; No more they fix their eyes upon That zealous preacher of the cross!
No more he meets them at the gate, No breezes waft his silver'd hair, While o'er the dead, both small and great, His soul breathes out the ardent prayer!
Nor from his eye, when grave-scenes call, His streaming tears are seen to flow,- Those tears, which to the earth did fall, And mingle with the dust below.
No more he at the altar stands, To bless, or break the hallow'd bread, While from his lips and lifted hands, Each hungry, holy soul is fed!
But mingled happy saints among, His ravish'd soul doth now ascend, To share that bliss which he so long, To others here did recommend.
AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A BELOVED CHILD.
My little boy! my lovely boy!
Why in such haste away?
Will no embrace, or tempting toy, Induce thy longer stay?
What prompted thee the day before, To climb thy Father's knee,- Spring to the window or the door, With such unusual glee?