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And is there in God’s world so drear a place

And wilt Thou hear the fever’d heart

Angel of wrath! why linger in mid air

As rays around the source of light

As when the Paschal week is o’er

At length the worst is o’er, and Thou art laid

Awake — again the Gospel-trump is blown

Beneath the burning eastern sky

Bless’d are the pure in heart

Creator, Saviour, strengthening Guide

Dear is the morning gale of spring

Father to me Thou art and Mother dear

Fill high the bowl, and spice it well, and pour

First Father of the holy seed

Foe of mankind! too bold thy race

Go not away, thou weary soul

Go up and watch the new-born rill

Hold up thy mirror to the sun

Hues of the rich unfolding morn

I mark’d a rainbow in the north

In troublous days of anguish and rebuke

Is it not strange, the darkest hour

Is there, in bowers of endless spring

Is this a time to plant and build

It is so — ope thine eyes, and see

It was not then a poet’s dream

Lessons sweet of spring returning

Lord, and what shall this man do

Lord, in Thy field I work all day

My Saviour, can it ever be

Not till the freezing blast is past

Now is there solemn pause in earth and heaven

O for a sculptor’s hand

O God of mercy, God of might

O hateful spell of Sin! when friends are nigh

O holy mountain of my God

O Lord my God, do Thou Thy holy will

O Thou who deign’st to sympathize

O Youth and Joy, your airy tread

Of the bright things in earth and air

Oh! day of days! shall hearts set free

Oh! say not, dream not, heavenly notes

Oh! who shall dare in this frail scene

On Sinai’s top, in prayer and trance

Praise to our pardoning God! though silent now

Prophet of God, arise and take

Red o’er the forest peers the setting sun

Say, ye celestial guards, who wait

See Lucifer like lightning fall

Seest thou, how tearful and alone

Since all that is not Heaven must fade

Sit down and take thy fill of joy

Soft cloud, that while the breeze of May

Star of the East, how sweet art Thou

Stately thy walls, and holy are the prayers

Sweet Dove! the softest, steadiest plume

Sweet nurslings of the vernal skies

Ten cleans’d, and only one remain

’Tis gone, that bright and orbed blaze

’Tis true, of old th’ unchanging sun

The bright-hair’d morn is glowing

The clouds that wrap the setting sun

The Earth that in her genial breast

The heart of childhood is all mirth

Th’ historic Muse, from age to age

The live-long night we’ve toil’d in vain

The midday sun, with fiercest glare

The morning mist is clear’d away

The prayers are o’er: why slumberest thou so long

The shadow of th’ Almighty’s cloud

The shower of moonlight falls as still and clear

The Son of God in doing good

The voice that from the glory came

The world’s a room of sickness, where each heart

The year begins with Thee

There are, who darkling and alone

There is an awe in mortal’s joy

There is a book, who runs may read

They know th’ Almighty’s power

Thou first-born of the year’s delight

Thou thrice denied, yet thrice belov’d

’Twas silence in Thy temple, Lord

Twice in her season of decay

Two clouds before the summer gale

Wake, arm divine! awake

We were not by when Jesus came

Well may I guess and feel

What liberty so glad and gay

What sudden blaze of song

What went ye out to see

When bitter thoughts, of conscience born

When brothers part for manhood’s race

When God of old came down from Heaven

When nature tries her finest touch

When Persecution’s torrent blaze

Where is it mothers learn their love

Where is the land with milk and honey flowing

Where is Thy favour’d haunt, eternal Voice

Who is God’s chosen priest

Who says, the wan autumnal sun

Why blow’st thou not, thou wintry wind

Why doth my Saviour weep

Why should we faint and fear to live alone

Will God indeed with fragments bear

Wish not, dear friends, my pain away

Ye hermits blest, ye holy maids

Ye stars that round the Sun of righteousness

Ye whose hearts are beating high

Yes — deep within and deeper yet

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