PRAISE.

My God! I will address Thee In loudest hymns of praise; Then, too, my soul shall bless Thee, When mute in deep amaze; For Thou, who kind receivest Each word to be addressed, The silent thought perceivest, The feeling unexpressed. And, while we ne’er can know Thy deep and wondrous ways, Words sink far, far below Thy due reward of praise. From the Greek of Synesius.

O! while thy sinful soul can cast Sin’s robes away—redeem the past, If not in deeds, in words to praise thy Maker haste. In sacred hymns employ the day, In praises pass the night away; And let the martyrs’ praise attune the willing lay. O what a privilege, could I, The prison of mortality Thus burst, and breathing forth this language, die! From the Spanish of Prudentius.

Not thankful when it pleaseth me; As if Thy blessings had spare days: But such a heart whose pulse may be Thy praise. George Herbert.

Fountains, and ye that warble as ye flow, Melodious murmurs, warbling tune His praise. Join voices all ye living souls: ye birds, That singing up to heaven’s gate ascend, Bear on your wings and in your notes His praise; Ye that in waters glide, and ye that walk the earth, And stately tread, or lowly creep; Witness if I be silent morn or even, To hill or valley, fountain, or fresh shade, Made vocal by my song, and taught His praise. Milton.

To God, who sits in highest seat, Glory and power given be; To father, Son, and Paraclete, Who reign in equal dignity, Whose boundless power we still adore, And sing their praise for evermore. Drummond.

While this immortal spark of heavenly flame Distends my breast, and animates my frame, To thee my ardent praises shall be borne On the first breeze that wakes the blushing morn; The latest star shall hear the pleasing sound, And nature in full choir shall join around. When full of Thee, my soul excursive flies Through earth, air, ocean, or thy regal skies; From world to world new wonders still I find, And all the Godhead flashes on my mind, When, winged with whirlwinds, vice shall take its flight To the deep bosom of eternal night, To Thee my soul shall endless praises pay: Join, men and angels! join the exalted lay. Blacklock.

If no basis bear my rising name But the fallen ruins of another’s fame; Then teach me, Heaven! to scorn the guilty bays; Drive from my breast that wretched lust of praise: Unblemished let me live, or die unknown; O, grant me honest fame, or grant me none. Pope.

Nor absolutely vain is human praise, Where human is supported by divine. Young.

My fears of danger, while I breathe, My dread of endless hell beneath, My sense of sorrow for my sin, To springing comfort change within; Change all my sad complaints for ease, To cheerful notes of endless praise. Parnell.

The praise I make will then be sweet indeed, If Thou the Spirit give by which I pray: My unassisted heart is barren clay, That of its native self can nothing feed; Of good and pious works Thou art the seed That quickens only where Thou sayest it may; Unless Thou show to us Thy own true way, No man can find it. Father! Thou must lead: Do Thou then breathe these thoughts into my mind By which such virtue may in me be bred, That in Thy holy footsteps I may tread: The fetters of my tongue do Thou unbind, That I may have the power to sing to Thee; And sound Thy praises everlastingly. Wordsworth.

Up to the throne of God is borne The voice of praise at early morn, And He accepts the punctual hymn Sung as the light of day grows dim. Nor will He turn His ear aside From holy offerings at noontide; Then here, reposing, let us raise A song of gratitude and praise. Wordsworth.

Oh, for the harp that David swept, At whose divine entrancing sound, The evil spirit distance kept, While holier visions hover’d round: Oh for such harp, in these our days, To speak a God’s, a Saviour’s praise. Barton.

From yon lowly roof, whose curling smoke O’ermounts the mist, is heard at intervals The voice of psalms—the simple song of praise. Graham.

And now, with fixed intent and mind sincere, Lift up your eyes from earth, to praise with me The Sovereign Lord, who reigns in heaven above, And try to follow where I shew the way. But be it yours, while joining in the prayer, That not your tongue so much as heart may share. O love supreme, full-orbed and glorious sun, Compared with whom that other is but night, The world’s true life alone, the world’s true light! O Thou whose breath created it at first, And still upholdest with a father’s care! Whate’er Thou willest, who hast power to do! O fountain without rise, whose boundless stream Flows without ebb, and undiminished pours! Who from Thyself derivest, underived! And in Thyself hast ever lived! Who, when revealed the most, then most art hid! Thou, if the soul has breathed one true desire To see Thy light, wilt give it wings for heaven. To mount a phœnix at Thy beam revived! Since nought there is beside Thee, in Thyself And of Thyself sole blest! since only Thou Conferrest good, and to receive must give. Deign in my heart, to light the holy flame, And by my lips give glory to Thy name. From the Italian of Celio Magno.

God of the fair and open sky! How gloriously above us springs The tented dome of heavenly blue, Suspended on the rainbow’s rings! Each brilliant star that sparkles through, Each gilded cloud that wanders free In evening’s purple radiance, gives The beauty of its praise to Thee! W. B. O. Peabody.