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Is it that other climes display

More flowery vales and brighter fountains, Scenes worthier of a poet's lay

Than our Hibernia's emerald mountains? Has genius quite withdrawn her aid,

Where once her beams celestial lighted?

No, but there hangs a chilling shade Around, that every joy has blighted. * Prov. xxv. 25.

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Traced on each lofty height,
I read thy boundless might,
Thy majesty ;-

Frail as the summer flower,
When wintry tempests lower,
Be thou my shield and tower,
Higher than I!

And when around my way,

The summer sunbeams play,
No cloud on high;

When faint with toil and heat,

Then lead my weary feet

'Neath the rock's cool retreat; Higher than I.

Love too is written there;

I read its traces fair

Emblazoned high;

For many a summer flower

Smiles thro' its little hour,

Fixed on that Rock of power
Higher than I!

Oh! Thou, the Christian's Rock!
Firm mid the tempest's shock,
To thee I fly!

With thoughts of power oppressed,

Still on thy love I rest;

Almighty Ever-blest!

Higher than I!

E. M. I.

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