Morning Hymn.

WHILE nature welcomes in the day,
My heart its earliest vows would pay
To Him, whose care hath kindly kept
My life from danger, while I slept.

His genial rays, the sun renews;

How bright the scene with glittering dews! The blushing flowers more beauteous bloom, And breathe more rich their sweet perfume.

So may the Sun of Righteousness,
With kindliest beams, my bosom bless,
Warm into life each heavenly seed,
To bud, and bear some generous deed.

So may the dews of grace distil,
And gently soften all my will;
So may my morning sacrifice

To heaven, a grateful incense, rise.

Wilt thou this day my footsteps guide
And kindly all I need, provide ;
With strength divine my bosom arm,
Against temptation's powerful charm.

Where'er I am, oh, may I feel,
That God is all around me still;
That all I say, or do, or mean,
By his all-searching eye is seen.

Oh, may each day my heart improve, Increase my faith, my hope, my love; And thus its shades around me close More wise and holy than I rose.

Evening Hymn.

My soul, a hymn of evening praise
To God, thy kind preserver, raise,
Whose hand, this day, hath guarded, fed,
And thousand blessings round thee shed.

Forgive my sins this day, O Lord,
In thought or feeling, deed or word;
And if in aught thy law I've kept,
My feeble efforts, Lord, accept.

While nature round is hush'd to rest,
Let no vain thought disturb my breast;
Shed o'er my soul religion's power,
Serenely solemn, as the hour.

Oh, bid thy angels o'er me keep

Their watch to shield me, while I sleep, Till the fresh morn shall round me break, Then with new vigor may I wake.

Yet think, my soul, another day
Of thy short course has rolled away.

Ah, think, how soon in deepening shade,
Thy day of life itself shall fade.

How soon death's sleep my eyes must close,

Lock every sense in dread repose,
And lay me mid the awful gloom,

And solemn silence of the tomb.

This very night, Lord, should it be,
Oh, may my soul repose in thee,
Till the glad morn in heaven shall rise,
Then wake to triumph in the skies.

TRANSLATION.

HOR. OD. XI, B. I.

Tu ne quæsieris, scire nefas, &c.

Seek not Leuconöe, with anxious care,
To know what fate the gods prepare
For me or thee; nor vainly try,
By magic charms, the future to descry.

But wiser far, receive with dauntless breast
Whate'er each hour may bring, as best ;
Whether great Jove shall grant thee more,
Or thy last winter lash the Tuscan shore.

Then quaff your wine, contract your hopes, be wise; E'en while we speak, the moment flies ;

Trust not the morrow, seize today,

And pluck life's flowers e'er they fade away.