And its first accents learn Immanuel's praise.
The blind no more in shades of darkness sit,
A kind Redeemer speaks the gloom away,
Celestial light bursts on th' astonish'd eye,
And all its rapture, extacy and praise,
Satanic hosts obey his great command,
And at his bidding quit their wretched prey,
To seek for new abodes, their legions fly
Before his awful frown, lest his strong arm
Should chain them down ten thousand fathoms deep
In the black gulph, abhorred Tartarous,

While the poor mortals from their pow'r set free,
Wake to new life, and sing deliv'ring grace;

Fall down and worship at Immanuel's feet,
And bless the great incarnate deity.

Hark! how a thousand tongues repeat his name.
Hark! how hosannahs echo through the air.
From heart to heart transporting pleasure flies,
And all is wonder, love and praise around.
Angels unseen admire! and tune their songs
To swell the triumphs of the great God-man.

See a fond father weeping o'er his child;
While mournful relatives stand round her bed
To bid a last adieu.... The beauteous girl
Expiring lays, pale as the hand of death,
Disease has done his fatal work, and lo!
The gloomy king, high brandishing his dart,
Seizes his lovely prey; life ebbs apace,
And death victorious folds her in his arms,
And lays the breathless victim in the dust.
But Jesus comes! Can his strong arm arrest

The monster death, and force him to disgorge
The swallow'd morsel ?....Can his pow'rful voice
Call back the soul on angels' wings convey'd
Half way to heav'n, again to re-possess

Its late forsaken clay? Yes, lo! he speaks,
"Damsel arise!" The breathless victim breathes,
She wakes, she lives, to life and strength restor❜d;
Health volatile flows cheerful thro' her veins,
Glows in her cheek, and sparkles in her eye;
While joy and wonder, gratitude and love,
Burst like a flood upon her aged sire,
And heights and depths of bliss unutt'rable
Convulse and agitate the mother's frame,
Such as a mother's breast alone can feel,
Such as a mother's tongue cannot describe.
Low at the great physician's feet they fall,
Adore his pow'r, and magnify his name.

Ah! what sad sight is this that strikes mine eye, A mournful train with slow and solemn pace, Conducting to his cold mausoleum

A sleeping youth....He sleeps the sleep of death!
Late, like the bounding hart, his nimble feet.
Tripp'd lightly o'er the hills, and thro' the plain;
His gladd'ning heart beat high with cheerful hope,
From the bright prospect of long years to come,
While vig'rous health and gay vivacity
Inspir'd his mind, and in his count'nance shone ;
But now
! a breathless corpse, stretch'd on the bier
His active, nimble feet forget to move;

No more his heart beats high with cheerful hope,
Nor gay vivacity, nor vig'rous health,

Play round his vitals and adorn his cheek.
Cold, pale and stiff, he lies; triumphant death
With unrelenting hand, pass'd by grey hairs,
To pluck the new blown flow'r. What voice is that
Which strikes mine ear? the voice of deep lament,
And o'ercharg'd sorrow, utt'ring words of woe,
And heavy import, "O! my son, my son!
Would God that I had dy'd for thee, my son !"
Ah! 'tis his mother; let the tender heart
Prepare to sigh, let sympathy awake,

And shed a gen'rous tear to soothe her woe.
His widow'd mother! he her only son!

The stay and staff of her declining years....
Snatch'd from her arms, to mingle with the dust :
No more his pleasing voice shall soothe her care,
His kind affection watch to minister

In acts of duteous love to all her need.
Fondly she entertain'd delusive hope

His gentle hand would close her dying lids,
And to the silent tomb commit her dust;
But heav'n subscrib'd not to the vain desire.
See from her eyes sad floods of sorrow fall,
She droops, she faints! O let some pitying friend
Support her sinking frame: all-gracious heav'n,
Smile on the mourner, bid thy comforts flow;
O calm the stormy passions of her soul,
Breathe sweet submission to thy sov'reign will,
Thro' all her pow'rs....Lo! the Redeemer comes!
Thou good physician, can thy sov'reign skill
Bring health and cure to this distracted mind?
Canst thou salubrious balms apply, and find

A medicine for such a wound as this?....

Lo! he draws near; he views the mournful train,
He knows the sighing mother's bleeding heart;
All the soft feelings of humanity

Glow in his gentle breast, and melt him down
To kind concern, and tend'rest sympathy:
Sweet pity sparkles in his gracious eye,
And all the rich compassions of a God
Divinely move to bid her sorrows cease.
Nor do her griefs rise higher for her son,
Than Jesu's strong compassions rise for her.
"Woman, weep not," the dear Redeemer saith:
Then with a gentle, yet Almighty voice,
He bids the dead arise! the dead obeys,
Starts into life at the divine command;
Rises in all the active strength of youth,
Springs from the useless bier, and at the feet
Of his restorer, hails his sacred name!
See the kind Saviour hastes to give him back
To his astonish'd parent's fond embrace.
Her tears no longer flow, her throbbing breast
No longer swells with agonizing woe:
Amazement and delight entrance her soul,
And wrapt in mute astonishment she stands !
Beholds her son, beholds her heav'nly friend,
And joy and gratitude divide her pow'rs.
Surrounding multitudes admire the deed;
Surprise and wonder fill their minds with awe.
They bless the glorious prophet, and adore
And glorify the God of Israel.

From tribe to tribe the splendor of his name
Spreads far and wide, the distant provinces

Hear and admire the wonders of his hand,

And throng to share the blessings he bestows.

Where'er we turn, what wonders strike our view!
Stupendous miracles, height above height,
Grandly sublime arising! With one voice,
As heralds of the heav'nly king, they sound
The trumpet of his praise, and cry aloud
"Behold the God of glory in the man

Whose nod controls creation! at whose word,
Disease, and death, and devils flee asham'd,
As night retires when radiant Sol appears."

See the belov'd, the friend of Jesus dies!
Again the haughty tyrant of the grave
Shakes his victorious dart, and hides it deep
In the kind heart of gentle Lazarus :
But lo! the friend of Jesus soars aloft....
He dies....He bursts to better life, and sings
A song of triumph o'er his conqu'ror.
Smiles at death's feeble shaft, defies his pow'r,
Wrapt in the bliss of immortality.

See two fair mourners weeping o'er his grave;
In all the sad solemnity of woe,

They mourn a brother; kind endearing name!
They mourn a friend; O name more sacred still,
Long interwoven with fraternal love,
Friendship had knit their kindred souls in one ;
But death, relentless death, has torn away

:

Their better part in vain the gentle voice

Of consolation pours her cordials forth,
And tender sympathy attempts in vain