Poems.
67
He hath paid his last debt,and breath'd his last sigh,
His manes repose in earth;
But his spirit hath soared to yonder sky,
The clime that gave him birth.
His manes repose in earth;
But his spirit hath soared to yonder sky,
The clime that gave him birth.
STANZAS.
Go count the stars in yon bright sky,
The sands upon the shore;
You 'll find the blessings from on high,
In number are much more.
The sands upon the shore;
You 'll find the blessings from on high,
In number are much more.
Count all the leaves upon the trees,
The waves upon the sea;
More numerous still than all of these,
Our daily gifts will be.
The waves upon the sea;
More numerous still than all of these,
Our daily gifts will be.
And yet, ungrateful that we are,
We seemingly forget,
To whom we owe our constant care,
Our great, increasing debt.
We seemingly forget,
To whom we owe our constant care,
Our great, increasing debt.
To Him, who sits enthroned above,
Our grateful incense raise;
And though unseen in worlds of love,
He 'll hear our humble praise.
Our grateful incense raise;
And though unseen in worlds of love,
He 'll hear our humble praise.
