Oh! ’tis a sight the soul to cheer, The promise of the fruitful year, When God abroad his bounty flings, And answering nature laughs and sings! He, “for the evil and the good,” For them, who with heart’s gratitude, For them, who thanklessly receive The _blessings_ He vouchsafes to give, Bids from his storehouse in the skies, “His rain descend, his sun arise.” _Mant._ Thrice _blessed_ they who dwell Within thine house, my God, Where daily praises swell, And still the floor is trod By those who in thy presence bow, By those whose King and God art thou. _J. Montgomery._ _Blessed_ are the pure in heart, For they shall see our God; The secret of the Lord is theirs, Their soul is Christ’s abode. Spotless their robes and pure, Dipped in the sea of light, That hides the unapproached shrine From men’s and angels’ sight. _Keble._ From darkness here, and dreariness, We ask not full repose, Only be thou at hand to _bless_ Our trial hour of woes. Is not the pilgrim’s toil o’erpaid By the clear rill and palmy shade? And see we not, up earth’s dark glade, The gate of Heaven unclose? _Keble._ Thou that created’st all! Thou fountain Of our sun’s light--who dwellest far From man, beyond the farthest star, Yet, ever present; who dost heed Our spirits in their human need; We _bless_ thee, Father, that we are! We _bless_ thee for our inward life; For its immortal date decreeing; For that which comprehendeth thee, A spark of thy divinity, Which is the being of our being! We _bless_ thee for this bounteous earth; For its increase--for corn and wine; For forest-oaks, for mountain-rills; For cattle “on a thousand hills;” We _bless_ thee--for all good is thine! _Mary Howitt._ We have the promise of th’ eternal truth, Those who live well, and pious paths pursue, To man and to their Maker true; Let them expire in age or youth, Can never miss Their way to everlasting _bliss_; But from a world of misery and care, To mansions of eternal ease repair; Where joy in full perfection flows, And in an endless circle moves Through the vast round of beatific love, Which no cessation knows. _John Pomfret._ No, ’tis in vain to seek for _bliss_, For _bliss_ can ne’er be found Till we arrive where Jesus is, And tread on heav’nly ground. _Watts._