Reign'd the Universe's master ere were earthly things begun; When his mandate all created, Ruler was the name he won; And alone He'll rule tremendous when all things are past and gone; He no equal has, nor consort, He the singular and lone Has no end and no beginning, His the sceptre, might, and throne; He's my God and living Saviour, rock to which in need I run; He's my banner and my refuge, fount of weal when call'd upon; In his hand I place my spirit, at nightfall and rise of sun, And therewith my body also;--God's my God,--I fear no one. PRAYER. FROM THE ARABIC. O Thou who dost know what the heart fain would hide; Who ever art ready whate'er may betide; In whom the distressed can hope in their woe, Whose ears with the groans of the wretched are plied-- Still bid Thy good gifts from Thy treasury flow; All good is assembled where Thou dost abide; To Thee, save my poverty, nought can I show, And of Thee all my poverty's wants are supplied; What choice have I save to Thy portal to go? If 'tis shut, to what other my steps can I guide? 'Fore whom as a suppliant low shall I bow, If Thy bounty to me, Thy poor slave, is denied? But, oh! though rebellious full often I grow, Thy bounty and kindness are not the less wide. O LORD! I NOTHING CRAVE BUT THEE. FROM THE TARTAR. O Thou from whom all love doth flow, Whom all the world doth reverence so, Thou constitut'st each care I know; O Lord! I nothing crave but Thee. O keep me from each sinful way; Thou breathedst life within my clay; I'll therefore serve Thee night and day; O Lord! I nothing crave but Thee. I ope my eyes, and see Thy face, On Thee my musings all I place, I've left my parents, friends, and race; O Lord! I nothing crave but Thee. Take Thou my soul, my every thing; My blood from out its vessels wring; Thy slave am I, and Thou my King; O Lord! I nothing crave but Thee. I speak--my tongue on Thee doth roam; I list--the winds Thy title boom; For in my soul has God his home; O Lord! I nothing crave but Thee. The world the shallow worldling craves, And greatness need ambitious knaves; The lover of his maiden raves; O Lord! I nothing crave but Thee. The student needs his bookish lore, The bigot shrines to pray before, His pulpit needs the orator; Oh Lord! I nothing crave but thee. Though all the learning 'neath the skies, And th' houries all of paradise, The Lord should place before my eyes, O Lord! I'd nothing crave but Thee. When I through paradise shall stray, Its houries and delights survey, Full little gust awake will they; O Lord! I'll nothing crave but Thee.