To sixty more, but that he lived too fast, Refined himself to soul, to curb the sense, And made almost a sin of abstinence. Yet had his aspect nothing of severe, But such a face as promised him sincere. Nothing reserved or sullen was to see; But sweet regards, and pleasing sanctity. Mild was his accent, and his action free. With eloquence innate his tongue was armed; Though harsh the precept, yet the people charmed. For, letting down the golden chain from high, He drew his audience upward to the sky: And oft with holy hymns he charmed their ears (A music more melodious than the spheres); For David left him, when he went to rest, His lyre; and after him he sung the best. He taught the gospel rather than the law; And forced himself to drive; but loved to draw. For fear but freezes minds; but love, like heat, Exhales the soul sublime, to seek her native seat. To threats the stubborn sinner oft is hard, Wrapped in his crimes, against the storm prepared; But when the milder beams of mercy play, He melts, and throws his cumbrous cloak away. Lightning and thunder (heaven's artillery) As harbingers before the Almighty fly: Those but proclaim his style, and disap MORNING HYMN. AWAKE, my soul, and with the sun Thy daily course of duty run; Shake off dull sloth, and joyful rise To pay thy morning sacrifice. Wake, and lift up thyself, my heart, And with the angels bear thy part, JOSEPH ADDISON. Who all night long unwearied sing All praise to Thee, who safe hast kept, I may of endless light partake. Lord, I my vows to thee renew; And with thyself my spirit fill. Direct, control, suggest, this day, Praise God, from whom all blessings flow; Yet then from all my griefs, O Lord, 47 For, though in dreadful whirls we hung, I knew thou wert not slow to hear, The storm was laid, the winds retired The sea, that roared at thy command, In midst of dangers, fears, and death, Thy goodness I'll adore, | And praise thee for thy mercies past, And humbly hope for more. My life, if thou preserv'st my life, And death, if death must be my doom, JOSEPH ADDISON. [1672-1719.] HYMN. How are thy servants blest, O Lord! In foreign realms and lands remote, And breathed in tainted air. Thy mercy sweetened every toil, Think, O my soul, devoutly think, Confusion dwelt in every face, And fear in every heart; PARAPHRASE OF PSALM XXIII. THE Lord my pasture shall prepare, And feed me with a shepherd's care; His presence shall my wants supply, And guard me with a watchful eye; My noonday walks he shall attend, And all my midnight hours defend. When in the sultry glebe I faint, Though in the paths of death I tread, Though in a bare and rugged way, Through devious lonely wilds I stray, Thy bounty shall my wants beguile, The barren wilderness shall smile, When waves on waves, and gulfs on gulfs, With sudden greens and herbage crowned, O'ercame the pilot's art. And streams shall murmur all around. |