164

PLEA OF THE MIDSUMMER FAIRIES.

Where we may still enjoy that light
Which never shall decay :

Lord, for Thy mercy, lend us might
To see that joyful day.

GASCOIGNE.

PLEA OF THE MIDSUMMER FAIRIES.

WE are kindly things,

And like her offspring nestle with the dove,—
Witness these hearts embroidered on our wings
To shew our constant patronage of love :
We sit at even in sweet bow'rs above
Lovers, and shake rich odours on the air
To mingle with their sighs, and still remove
The startling owl, and bid the bat forbear
Their privacy, and haunt some other where.

And we are near the mother when she sits
Beside her infant in its wicker bed;
And we are in the fairy scene that flits
Across its tender brain; sweet dreams we shed,
And whilst the tender little soul is fled
Away, to sport with our young elves, the while
We touch the dimpled cheek with roses red,
And tickle the soft lips until they smile,
So that their careful parents they beguile.

T. HOOD.

Sacred.

WAKE, my soul, and with the sun
Thy daily course of duty run;
Shake off dull sloth, and joyful rise
To pay thy morning sacrifice. SA

Thy precious time misspent redeem;
Each precious day thy last esteem;
Improve thy talent with due care,
For the great day thyself prepare.

In conversation be sincere,

Keep conscience as the noontide clear,
Think how all-seeing God thy ways
And all thy secret thoughts surveys.

By influence of the light divine,
Let thy own light to others shine;
Reflect all heaven's propitious rays
In ardent love and cheerful praise.

168

MORNING HYMN.

Wake, and lift thyself, my heart,
And with the angels bear thy part,
Who all night long unwearied sing
High praises to th' eternal King.

I wake, I wake!-ye heavenly choir,
May your devotion me inspire;
That I like you my age may spend,
Like you may on my God attend.

May I like you in God delight,
Have all day long my God in sight,
Perform, like you, my Maker's will—
Oh, may I never more do ill!

Had I your wings, to heaven I'd fly ;
But God shall that defect supply,
And my soul, wing'd with warm desire,
Shall all day long to heaven aspire.

All praise to Thee, who safe hast kept,
And hast refresh'd me whilst I slept.
Grant, Lord, when I from death shall wake,
I may of endless light partake.

I would not wake, nor rise again,
Even heaven itself I would disdain,
Wert not Thou there to be enjoy'd,
And I in hymns to be employ'd.

Heaven is, dear Lord, where'er Thou art ;
Oh, never, then, from me depart;
For to my soul 'tis hell to be

But for one moment void of Thee.