The New Hampshire Gazette And Historical Chronicle

A MORNING MEDITATION

The meek ey'd morn appears, matter of dews. Thompson.

Morning now reigns how beautifully fair

Is yonder lofty sky, how cool the air!

The sons of riot have not long repos'd.

Their giddy heads, scarce are their eye-lids clos'd:

Unhappy men! flee pleasure's fatal ways,

Virtue alone, true happiness can raise:

Reflect from whom you first receiv'd your breath

Reflect upon your Saviour's precious death?

Such thoughts will turn you from your dismal road

And lead your soul's to wisdom's bright abode.

How lovely, how salubrious is the breeze,

The zephyr's murmuring thro' the lofty trees!

The glitt'ring dew drops eminently bright,

With borrow'd lustre, strike my ravish'd sight:

Num'rous as these resplendent tears of morn,

Will be the saints Messiah shall adorn

With glory's brilliant vestments, when on high,

Tho last great morning dawns o'er the sky.

Hark, how the valley, now responsive, rings,

With lambkins bleating near the crystal spring

The turdy oxen, from the verdant mead,

Rise lowing, while exalted over head

The feather'd choir in various notes combine.

To celebrate his praise who is divine:

How cheerfully they spring from pray'r to pray'r,

And with oft music usher in the day:

The tuneful lark is now ascending high,

With fluttering wings, gay warbling in the sky,

Shall man be silent in the gen'ral choir?

Nor with concordant voice God's love admire?

Shall man profusely spend his precious hours?

No! let him nerve his intellectual powers,

Nor on the couch of ease, dull dozing lie,

While the bright sun inflames the azure sky.

Great Sun of Righteousness beam forth on me!

Behold my ardent eye, my suppliant knee!

As Sol emerges from his briny bed,

And rears sublime his glory circled head:

So in life's blooming morning would I rise,

From guilt's abyss, and pant for yonder skies.

Like his, when hasting to his noon tide goal,

May be the flaming ardour of my soul:

Oh! grant this frame, in its meridian days.

To shine surrounded with bright virtue's blaze,

Let my autumnal years serenely glide,

Then may my sphere of usefulness be wide:

Like the sun's disk, which (pleasing to survey)

Gradual extends towards the close of day:

And as that orb forsakes alone these skies.

With renovated lustre to arise:

So, let my hoary head go gently down.

So let me rise to an eternal crown.

M. R.