English

Our refuge is the Lord, Most High,
A help in trouble ever nigh;
The earth may quake, the mountains rock,
But we unmov'd will stand the shock.

There is a stream of copious grace,
It cheers Jehovah's dwelling place —
The place where God delights to dwell,
And vain are all th' assaults of hell.

The world's alarm'd, and fill'd with dread;
Jehovah speaks — the earth hath fled;
Jehovah, God of hosts, appears,
For our defence, to quell our fears.

Come, see Jehovah's mighty deeds!

Hail pleasing spot! the scene of former joys,
Where free from bustle, and the city's noise,
The insant mind was train'd in virtue's sway.
Unaw'd by threats or stern correction's sway.

Tho' distant far the scenes my heart once knew,
Still fleeting fancy, brings them to my view;
Once more befits, as musing here I stand,
The childish play-thing to my ready hand;
I see the tops in circling orbits roll,
And balls swift bounding reach the destin'd goal;
The tow'ring kite on well-poiz'd pinions soar,

All ye, to whom these presents come,
Take note that Ned has gone to roam
In the wild regions of Apollo,
And dares among the Muses hollow.
No more in sober sense you'll find him,
But pelting with a Muse behind him,
Despising ev'ry earthly steed,
On Pegasus three quarter speed;
Slap dash thro' thick and thin he flew,
With laural crown and bays in view.

 His brain on rhymes was always gadding,
And all his faculties went madding.
On classic ground he constant stood,
And hanker'd for poetic food.

The Lord for ever guards the just,
His ears attend their cry;
When broken spirits dwell in dust,
The God of grace is nigh.

What though the sorrows here they taste,
Be sharp and tedious too,
The Lord, who saves his saints at last,
Is their supporter now.

Evil shall smite the wicked dead;
But God secures his own;
Prevents the mischief when they slide,
Or heals the broken bone.

When desolation, like a flood,
O'er the proud sinner rolls;
Saints find a refuge in their God,

Ten mile in twenty minutes! 'E done it, sir. That's true.
The big bay 'orse in the further stall — the one wot's next to you.
I've seen some better 'orses; I've seldom seen a wuss,
But 'e 'olds the bloomin' record, an' that's good enough for us.
'
We knew as it was in 'im. 'E's thoroughbred, three part,
We bought 'im for to race 'im, but we found 'e 'ad no 'eart;
For 'e was sad and thoughtful, and amazin' dignified,
It seemed a kind o' liberty to drive 'im or to ride;

For 'e never seemed a-thinkin' of what 'e 'ad to do,

Christopher Davis was up upon Mavis
And Sammy MacGregor on Flo,
Jo Chauncy rode Spider, the rankest outsider,
But he'd make a wooden horse go.
There was Robin and Leah and Boadicea,
And Chesterfield's Son of the Sea;
And Irish Nuneaton, who never was beaten,
They backed her at seven to three.

The course was the devil! A start on the level,
And then a stiff breather uphill;

To the Memory of Alexis

Here, broader spreads the lowly creeping thyme,
Here, fairer lilies, fresher daisies, grow;
Here, springs the pride of Plora's flow'ry prime,
Blue hare-bells bud, and purple vi'lets blow.

And here, the willows weave a thicker shade,
And here, the hawthorns wear a whiter bloom;
And milder, o'er the many-colour'd mead,
Yon blossom'd furze exhale a fragrant fume.

To MIRA

If you in fancy's ever-blooming scenes,
Contemplative of future grandeur, rove,
Delighted gaze on F LORIO 's wide demesnes,
And blush to recollect an humbler love:

'Twere rude, dear maid! to break the golden dream,
To sweep the gaudy equipage away;
Sully the massy plater's silver gleam,
Or grind the China to its native clay.

Be far from me th' invidious cruel task,

The Lord is near when men oppress,
He helps when troubles rise;
He is my friend in deep distress,
He hears my groans and sighs.

The smiles of Jesus sweetly play
Around my toil-worn brow;
And light my path with Hope's bright ray,
That scarce was felt till now.

His arms of love sustain my soul,
And circle me around;
His hands my pains and griefs control,
He makes my joys abound.

His mercy heals each grievous smart,
And wipes the falling tear;
His grace supports my fainting heart,

O my soul! what means this sadness?
Wherefore art thou thus cast down?
Let thy griefs be turn'd to gladness,
Bid thy restless fears be gone;
Look to Jesus,
And rejoice in him alone.

Though ten thousand ills beset thee,
From without and from within;
Jesus saith, he'll ne'er forget thee,
He will rescue thee from sin;
He is faithful,
He the work will soon begin.

Though distresses now attend thee,
Though thou tread'st a thorny road,
His right hand will still defend thee,