O, blessed, first-born Son of God most high, By whom the sun and all the worlds of light Were summon'd from the gloom of deepest night, While this low earth was shap'd before thine eye,―― Didst Thou earth's ills in human form defy, Leaving thy glorious, heav'nly mansion bright, To save lost man, and vindicate God's right, And on the cross, nail'd hands and feet, didst die?―― O, wondrous truth, beyond all truths we know! With love our trembling lips pronounce thy name; With speechless gratitude our hearts o'erflow! But Thou didst rise from thy sad doom of shame, And, while angelic hosts hail Thee and greet, At God's right hand didst find thine ancient seat. 58. TO DR. THOMSON, MISSIONARY. Old WARRIOR, two decades of years and more Have sped, since thou didst arm thee for the fight, Since thou didst wield thy sword with hero's might, Warring just where apostles fought of yore. 'Twas Charity, which o'er two oceans bore Thee and thy fellows from this land of light To seek God's ancient mount in error's night And Zion's long-lost glory to restore. Thy warfare is to last while thou hast breath; Sure is the vict'ry which to Christ is given; Earth shall yet bear the sun-light stamp of heaven. And when at last thine eye shall close in death, Thy life, we know, through Christ's atoning blood, Shall be where God outbeams light's endless flood. 59. HAPPY OLD AGE. 'Tis good our destin'd course in life to run, New forms of beauty bursting on the sight, The clouds soon gone, that bring a feeble night, Still holding on our way, like glorious sun. What noble prize has sluggishness e'er won? 'Tis toil of day, that brings sweet rest at night, And mingled joys make e'en our sorrows light: The bliss we taste is bliss but just begun. From height of age we gaze on years gone by; The fruits of many a deed of good appear, From which new plants are waving to the eye. Forward we look; no terrors we descry, But all is light, and peace, and pleasures dear: One step will gain the glories of the sky! 60. PILGRIMS ON PLYMOUTH ROCK. The "Mayflow'r"'s anchor'd in the wintry bay; And now the crowded boat with busy oar Glides onward to the solitary shore, Where, just emerging from the wave, there lay A Rock, which trusting feet would not betray. On this the Pilgrims land, to float no more On angry billows, as they ceaseless roar;―― But here to fix their dwelling-place for aye.―― This scene may well the future good unfold, Which o'er th' Atlantic wave their feet had sought―― THE LIBERTY OF CONSCIENCE, prize untold, Each shackle broke which bigotry had wrought―― Symbol, which sure our eyes do not bemock, Of FREEDOM'S Empire, founded on a Rock! 61. NO SORROW IN DEATH.