What though the spicy breezes Blow soft o'er Ceylon's isle Though every prospect pleases, And only man is vile: In vain with lavish kindness The gifts of God are strown The heathen in his blindness Bows down to wood and stone.

When Spring unlocks the flowers To paint the laughing soil When summer's balmy breezes Refresh the mower's toil When winter holds in frosty chains The fallow and the flood In God the earth rejoices still, And owns her Maker good.

Brightest and best of the sons of the morning, Dawn on our darkness, and lend us thine aid. Star of the east the horizon adorning, Guide where our infant Redeemer is laid.

With drooping bells of clearest blue Thou didst attract my childish view, Almost resembling The azure butterflies that flew Where on the heath thy blossoms grew So lightly trembling.

Eternity has no gray hairs! The flowers fade, the heart withers, man grows old and dies, the world lies down in the sepulchre of ages, but time writes no wrinkles on the brow of Eternity.

Bread of the world, in mercy broken, Wine of the soul, in mercy shed, By whom the words of life were spoken, And in whose death our sins are dead: Look on the heart by sorrow broken, Look on the tears by sinners shed And be Thy feast to us the token That by Thy grace our souls are fed.

Spring unlocks the flowers to paint the laughing soil.

The Son of God goes forth to war,A kingly crown to gainHis blood red banner streams afar:Who follows in His train?Who best can drink his cup of woe,Triumphant over pain,Who patient bears his cross below,He follows in His train.

Thus heavenly hope is all serene,But earthly hope, how bright soe'er,Still fluctuates o'er this changing scene,As false and fleeting as 't is fair.

The heathen in his blindness Bows down to wood and stone.

Holy, holy, holy, Lord God Almighty! Early in the morning our song shall rise to thee.

By cool Siloam's shady rill How sweet the lily grows!