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…

Sometimes a light surprises The Christian while he sings; It is the Lord who rises With healing on His wings; When comforts are declining,

Painter, this likeness is too stro… And we shall mourn the dead too lo…

Weak and irresolute is man; The purpose of to-day, Woven with pains into his plan, To-morrow rends away. The bow well bent, and smart the s…

Though once a puppy, and though F… Here moulders one whose bones some… No sycophant, although of spaniel… And though no hound, a martyr to t… Ye squirrels, rabbits, leverets, r…

That ocean you have late surveyed, Those rocks I too have seen; But I, afflicted and dismayed, You tranquil and serene. You from the flood-controlling ste…

Oh! for a closer walk with God, A calm and heavenly frame; A light to shine upon the road That leads me to the Lamb! Where is the blessedness I knew

Silent I sat, dejected, and alone… Making in thought the public woes… When, first, arose the image in my… Of England’s sufferings by that s… How death, his fun’ral torch and s…

She came—she is gone—we have met— And meet perhaps never again; The sun of that moment is set, And seems to have risen in vain. Catharina has fled like a dream

Thy mansion is the Christian’s he… O Lord, Thy dwelling place secure… Bid the unruly throng depart, And leave the consecrated door. Devoted as it is to Thee,

When a bar of pure silver or ingot… Is sent to be flatted or wrought i… It is pass’d between cylinders oft… In an engine of utmost mechanical… Thus tortured and squeezed, at las…

‘I love the Lord,’ is still the s… This heart delights to sing: But I reply—your thoughts are vai… Perhaps ’tis no such thing. Before the power of love divine

The billows swell, the winds are h… Clouds overcast my wintry sky; Out of the depths to Thee I call,… My fears are great, my strength is… O Lord, the pilot’s part perform,

Thracian parents, at his birth, Mourn their babe with many a tear, But, with undissembled mirth, Place him breathless on his bier. Greece and Rome, with equal score…

Boy, I hate their empty shows, Persian garlands I detest, Bring not me the late-blown rose, Lingering after all the rest. Plainer myrtle pleases me,