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DAVID, scholar of the Lord !
Such is thy science, whence reward

And infinite degree;
O strength, O sweetness, lasting ripe !
God's harp thy symbol, and thy type

The lion and the bee !

There is but One who ne'er rebelled,
But One by passion unimpelled,

By pleasures unenticed ;
He from Himself His semblance sent,
Grand object of His own content,

And saw the God in Christ.

Tell them, I AM, Jehovah said
To Moses; while earth heard in dread,

And smitten to the heart,




At once above, beneath, around,
All nature, without voice or sound,

Replied, O Lord, thou art.

For Adoration, David's psalms
Lift up the heart to deeds of alms;

And he who kneels and chants,
Prevails his passions to control,
Finds meat and medicine to the soul,

Which for translation pants.

For Adoration, beyond match,
The scholar bullfinch aims to catch

The soft flute's ivory touch ;
And careless on the hazel spray.
The daring redbreast keeps at bay

The damsel's greedy clutch.

For Adoration, in the skies,
The Lord's philosopher espies

The dog, the ram, and rose;
The planets' ring, Orion's sword,
Nor is His greatness less adored

In the vile worm that glows.



For Adoration, on the strings
The western breezes work their wings,

The captive ear to soothe ;-
Hark! 'tis a voice—how still, and small-
That makes the cataracts to fall,

Or bids the sea be smooth !

For Adoration, incense comes
From bezoar, and Arabian gums,

And from the civet's fur ;
But as for prayer, or e'er it faints,
Far better is the breath of saints

Than galbanum or myrrh.

For Adoration, from the down
Of damsons to the anana's crown,

God sends to tempt the taste;
And while the luscious zest invites
The sense, that in the scene delights,

Commands desire be chaste.

For Adoration, all the paths
Of grace are open, all the baths

Of purity refresh ;



And all the rays of glory beam
To deck the man of God's esteem,

Who triumphs o'er the flesh.

For Adoration, in the dome
Of Christ, the sparrows find a home,

And on His olives perch;
The swallow also dwells with Thee,
O man of God's humility,

Within his Saviour's church.


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WEET is the dew that falls betimes,
And drops upon the leafy limes;

Sweet Hermon's fragrant air :
Sweet is the lily's silver bell,
And sweet the wakeful tapers' smell

That watch for early prayer.

Sweet the young nurse, with love intense, Which smiles o'er sleeping innocence ;

Sweet when the lost arrive : Sweet the musician's ardour beats, While his vague mind's in quest of sweets,

The choicest flowers to hive.

Sweeter, in all the strains of love,
The language of thy turtle dove,

Paired to thy swelling chord;

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