John Quincy Adams

'MAN wants but little here below,
Nor wants that little long.'
'Tis not with me exactly so;
But 'tis so in the song.
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O God, with goodness all thy own,
In mercy cause thy face to shine;
So shall thy ways on earth be known,
Thy saving health and power divine:
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When life's fair dream has passed away
To three score years and ten,
Before we turn again to clay
The lot of mortal men,
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Alas! How swift the moments fly!
How flash the years along!
Scarce here, yet gone already by,
The burden of a song.
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The man in righteousness arrayed,
A pure and blameless liver,
Needs not the keen Toledo blade,
Nor venom-freighted quiver.
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Thou silent herald of Time's silent flight!
Say, could'st thou speak, what warning voice were thine?
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Thou silent herald of Time's silent flight!
Say, could'st thou speak, what warning voice were thine?
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O that the race of men would raise
Their voices to their heavenly King,
And with the sacrifice of praise
The glories of Jehovah sing!
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Turn to the stars of heaven thine eyes,
And God shall meet thee there;
Exalt thy vision to the skies,
His glory they declare;
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Lord Of all worlds, let thanks and praise
To thee forever fill my soul;
With blessings thou hast crowned my days
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Sure, to the mansions of the blest
When infant innocence ascends,
Some angel, brighter than the rest,
The spotless spirit's flight attends.
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One day between the Lip and the Heart
A wordless strife arose,
Which was expertest in the art
His purpose to disclose.
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From Virtue's paths, when hapless men depart,
The first avenger is the culprit's heart;
There sits a judge, from whose severe decree
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With Charles the Fifth art thou acquainted, reader?
Of Ferdinand and Isabel the grandson,
In ages past of Europe's realms file leader,
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When o'er the billow-heaving deep,
The fathers of our race,
The precepts of their God to keep,
Sought here their resting-place
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Hark! 'Tis the holy temple's bell;
The voice that summons me to prayer:
My heart, each roving fancy quell;
Come, to the house of God repair.
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Sing to Jehovah a new song,
For deeds of wonder he hath done;
His arm in holiness is strong;
His hand the victory hath won:
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Sure, to the mansions of the blest
When infant innocence ascends,
Some angel brighter than the rest
The spotless spirit's flight attends.
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