Shine, glorious Sun! thy blessings richly pour,
And cheer our fallen world from hour to hour!
With thy glad beams, O visit every vale,
Till every starving soul thine influence feel!
In Memory of the Rev. D. Duck,
Curate of Danby.
Yes! Daniel, faithful Daniel's gone,
His weeping flock lament their loss;
No more they fix their eyes upon
That zealous preacher of the cross.
No more he meets them at the gate,
No breezes waft his silver'd hair,
While o'er the dead, both small and great,
His soul breathes out the ardent prayer!
Nor from his eye, when grave-scenes call,
His streaming tears are seen to flow,—
Those tears, which to the earth did fall,
And mingle with the dust below.
No more he at the alter stands,
To bless, or break the hallowed bread,
While from his lips and lifted hands,
Each hungry, holy soul is fed!
But mingled happy saints among,
His ravished soul doth now ascend,
To share that bliss which he so long
To others here did recommend.
