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The cavern's depth, or echoing grove,
A voice is heard of praife, and love.
As o'er thy work the feasons roll,
And footh, with change of blifs, the foul,
Oh never may their fmiling train
Pats o'er the human fcene in vain !
But oft, as on the charm we gaze,
Attune the wond'ring foul to praise;
And be the joys that moft we prize
The joys that from thy favour rife!
$338. A Paraphrafe on Ifaiab xlix. 15. Mifs WILLIAMS.
Can a woman forget her fucking child, that the should not have compafsion on the fon of her womb? Yea, they may forget, yet will I not forget thee.
HEAVENSpeaks Oh Nature, liften and rejoice!
Oh fpread from pole to pole this gracious voice!
Say every breaft of human frame, that proves
The boundless force with which a parent loves;
Say, can a mother from her yearning heart
Bid the foft image of her child depart? [bear
She! whom strong instinct arms with ftrength to
All forms of ill, to fhield that dearest care;
She! who with anguifh ftung, with madnefs wild,
Will rush on death to fave her threaten'd child;
All felfish feelings banith'd from her breast,
Her life one aim to make another's bleft-
When her vex'd infant to her bofom clings,
When round her neck his eager arms he flings;
Breathes to her lift'ning foul his melting figh,
And lifts, fuffus'd with tears, his afking eye!
Will fhe, for all ambition can attain,
The charms of pleasure, or the lures of gain,
Betray ftrong Nature's feelings? will the prove
Cold to the claims of duty, and of love?
But fhould the mother from her yearning heart
Bid the foft image of her child depart;
When the vex'd infant to her botom clings,
When round her neck his eager arms he flings;
Should the unpitying hear his melting tigh,
And view unmov'd the tear that fills his eye;
Should the, for all ambition can attain,
The charms of pleasure, or the lures of gain,
Betray ftrong Nature's feelings-fhould the
When wild, deftructive flames fhall wrap the fkies.
When Chaos triumphs, and when Nature dies;
Man fhall alone the wreck of worlds furvive,
'Midft failing fpheres, immortal man shall live!
The voice which bade the laft dread thunders roll,
Shall whitper to the good, and cheer their foul.
God fhall himfelf his favour'd creature guide
Where living waters pour their blissful tide,
Where the enlarg'd, exulting, wond'ring mind
Shall foar, from weakness and from guilt refin'd;
Where perfect knowledge, bright with cloudlefs
Shall gild eternity's unmeasur'd days; [rays,
Where friendship, unembitter'd by diftruft,
Shall in immortal bands unite the juft;
Devotion, rais'd to rapture, breathe her ftrain,
And love in his eternal triumph reign!
$339. A Paraphrafe on Matt. vii. 12. Mifs WILLIAMS. whatfoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even fo to
PRECEPT divine to earth in mercy given;
O facred rule of action, worthy heaven!
Whofe pitying love ordain'd the bleft command
To bind our nature in a firmer band;
Enforce each human fuff'rer's strong appeal,
And teach the felfish breaft what others feel;
Wert thou the guide of life, mankind might know
A foft exemption from the worth of woe;
No more the powerful would the weak opprefs,
But tyrants learn the luxury to blefs;
No more would flavery bind a hopeless train
Of human victims in her galling chain;
Mercy the hard, the cruel heart would move
To foften mis'ry by the deeds of love;
And av'rice from his hoarded treasures give,
Unafk'd, the liberal boon, that want might live!
The impious tongue of falfehood then would cease
To blatt, with dark fuggeftions, virtue's peace;
No more would fpleen or paffion banish reft,
And plant a pang in fond affection's breaft;
By one harth word, one alter'd look, destroy
Her peace, and wither ev'ry op'ning joy;
Scarce can her tongue the captious wrong explain,
The flight offence which gives fo deep a pain!
Th' affected cafe that flights her ftarting tear,
The words whofe coldnets kills from lips to dear;-
The hand the loves, alone can point the dart,
Whofe hidden fting could wound no other heart-
Thefe, of all pains the harpeft we endure,
The breaft which now inflicts, would spring to
No more deferted genius then would fly [cure.-
To breathe in folitude his hopeless figh;
No more would Fortune's partial fmile debafe
The fpirit, rich in intellectual grace; [bloom,
Who views unmov'd from scenes where pleasures
The flame of genius funk in mis'ry's gloom;
The foul heaven form'd to foar, by want deprelt,
Nor heeds the wrongs that pierce a kindred breast.
Thou righteous Law, whofe clear and useful light
Sheds on the mind a ray divinely bright;
Condenfing in one rule whate'er the fage
Has proudly taught, in many a labour'd page;
Bid every heart thy hallow'd voice revere,
To justice facred, and to nature dear! -
$340. Reflections on a Future State, from a Review of Winter. THOMSON.
IS done! dread Winter fpreads his lateft
And reigns tremendous o'er the conquer'd year.
How dead the vegetable kingdom lies!
How dumb the tuneful! Horor wide extends
His defolate domain. Behold, fond man!
See here thy pictur'd life: pafs fome few years,
Thy flow'ring Spring, thy Summer's ardent
Thy fober Autumn fading into age,
And pale concluding Winter comes at laft,
And huts the fcene. Ah! whither now are fled
Thofe dreams of greatnefs? thofe unfolid hopes
Of happiness thofe longings after fame?
Thofe reftlefs cares? thofe bufy bustling days?
Thofe gay-fpent, feftive nights? thofe veering
Loft between good and ill, that fhar'd thy life?
All now are vanifh'd! Virtue fole furvives,
Immortal never-failing friend of man,
His guide to happinets on high. And fee!
'Tis come, the glorious morn! the fecond birth
Of heaven and earth! awak'ning nature hears
The new-creating word, and starts to life,
In ev'ry heighten'd form, from pain and death
For ever free. The great eternal scheme,
Involving all, and in a perfect whole
Uniting as the profpect wider fpreads,
To reafon's refin'd clears up apace.
Ye vainly wife! ye blind prefumptuous! now,
Confounded in the duft, adore that Pow'r
And Wisdom oft arraign'd; fee now the cause
Why unaffuming worth in fecret liv'd,
And died neglected: why the good man's fhare
In life was gall and bitterness of foul:
Why the lone widow and her orphans pin'd
In ftarving folitude; while luxury,
In palaces, lay ftraining her low thought,
To form unreal wants why heaven-born truth,
And moderation fair, wore the red marks
Of fuperftition's fcourge: why licens'd pain,
That cruel fpoiler, that embotom'd foc,
Embitter'd all our blifs. Ye good diftrefs'd!
Ye noble few! who here unbending stand
Beneath life's preffure, yet bear up awhile,
And what your bounded view, which only faw
A little part, deem'd evil, is no more:
The ftorms of Wintry Time will quickly pafs,
And one unbounded Spring encircle all.
Still bows fubmiffive to the tyrant hand,
That tore the fuff'rer from his native land;
Yet, ere the arts of luxury began,
They boafted liberty, the right of man;
Joy led their hours, and plenty blefs'd their toil.
Serene, they faw each peaceful morning fmile,
Their pleading fighs, their fuppliant, moving
Daughter of Virtue! Royal Charlotte, hear!
Sovereign, yet parent of this happy ifle,
O'er whofe gay plains fair plenty deigns to fmile;
Where fpotle's peace extends her azure wing;
And liberty's enchanting bloffoms fpring;
Thine is compaffion's fympathetic figh,
The heart like thine, that feels another's pain,
The melting tear that beams in pity's cye:
Hears not diftrefs'd misfortune plead in vain;
And lull each raging paffion into reft;
Be 't thine to heal pale forrow's wounded breaft,
Let not the wretched flave in vain deplore
The long-loft joys he muft behold no more;
Then, while Britannia hails thy facred name,
A deed like this fhall fwell the trump of fame;
Virtues like thine thall wake the founding lyre,
Each bofom glow with emulative fire;
And, fwell'd with themes like this, the poet's page
Remain admir'd through each fucceeding age.
When Superftition rais'd her threat'ning hand,
And scatter'd horror round the bleeding land,
On fad Britannia's ravag'd plains the food,
Drench'd in one fatal ftream of martyr'd blood;
O'er ev'ry fcene with fell delight the flew,
And finil'd, exulting, at the dreadful view;
Religion's facred truths, though once defign'd
To banifh error from the darken'd mind,
Avail'd not here; her pure celeftial light,
Loft in the gloom of superstition's night,
Drooping, beheld the fatal torrent roll
Refiftlefs terrors o'er the doubtful foul;
Till bright Eliza came, whofe matchlefs fway
Call'd forth the dawn of fair religion's day;
Cherifh'd the genial influence as it rofe,
Difpell'd their errors and reliev'd their woes.
Shall Britain, then, who boasts th' unrivall'd deed,
Relentless, fee the guiltlefs victim bleed?
Amid the horrors of tormenting pain
He feeks for mercy, but he feeks in vain;
Affrighted Mercy quits the guilty land,
Where grim Oppreffion waves her tyrant hand;
Where, to the favage herd, a harmless prey
Sinks faint beneath the fervid beam of day;
Or, haply trembling in the midnight air,
Sunk in the deepest gloom of low defpair;
Or burning thirft and furious want, combin'd,
With wild distraction fire his glowing mind,
Till death reftores to him eternal reft,
And calms the tumults of his troubled breast.
The British youth, torn from his much-lov'd
Awhile in terror views the lightning glare, With ftreaming horror, through the midnight air; The form once past, he gains the friendly ray Of hope, to guide him through the dang'rous way; Smiling, the bids each future profpect rife, Through fancy's varied mirror, to his eyes. Not fo the flave; opprefs'd with fecret care, He finks the hapless victim of despair; Or doom'd to torments that might even move The fteely heart, and melt it into love; Till, worn with anguish, with`ring in his bloom, He falls an early tenant of the tomb ! Shall Britain view, unmov'd, fad Afric's fhore Delug'd fo oft in ftreams of purple gore! Britain, where fcience, peace, and plenty, fmile, Virtue's bright feat and freedom's favour'd isle! Rich are her plains and fruitful is her clime, The fcourge of tyrants, and the boast of time; Of ev'ry virtue, ev'ry worth, poffeft, That fires the hero's or the patriot's breast : There, nobly warm'd with animating fire, Our Shakespeare ftruck his foul-commandinglyre; There fcenes of blifs immortal Milton fung, And notes harmonious iffued from his tongue : And bards like thefe fhall boaft in ev'ry age, While native genius glows in Hayley's page; While genius bids, to our enchanted eyes, In Swift's own ftrains, a fecond Pope arise. When truth, perplex'd in error's thorny maze, Threw o'er the world obfcur'd and darken'd rays, Then Newton rose, unveil'd the beauteous maid: He fpoke, and nature ftood at once difplay'd. Thefe were the fouls that Britain once poffefs'd, When genuine virtue fir'd the patriot's breaft; And still fhall fhe protect fair freedom's caufe, And vindicate her violated laws; Waft peace and freedom to a wretched land, And flatter bleflings with a lib'ral hand.
In Britain's paradife, by freedom made, The tree of commerce fpreads its ample shade; Unfparing plenty bends the lofty brow, And wealth bright glitters on cach golden bough; On fome the richeft gems of India fhone, And added luftre to the British throne; Such as in gentle radiance might outvie The melting luftre of the fparkling eye; Such as in gay variety might grace The native beauties of the lovely face: On fome the bud of health, in rofy bloom, Call'd languid fick nefs from an early tomb; Or bade contented labour calmly fimile O'er the rich profpect of his native foil. One ample branch, fuperior to the rest, Rofe to the view, in fplendid radiance drest; On ev'ry leaf the tempting manna hung, In golden dyes each beauteous blossom sprung; The flow'rs of brightest hue oppreffion nam'd, Yet from the tree the rank of commerce claim'd. Led by the fair deceit, beneath its shade With eager eye the flaves of av'rice stray'd; This fatal fruit was lovelieft to the view, That on the spreading tree of commerce grew; They grafp'd the baneful load with fatal hafte, Destructive poifon to th' enchanted taste;
Loft in the pleafing dream, awhile the foul,
Where av'rice reign'd fecure from all controul,
Slept calm, till confcience, with unerring dart,
Struck deep conviction through the guilty heart;
And bade reflection wake the feeling mind,
That turn'd to ev'ry fcene it left behind:
There might they fee the tortur'd wretch implore
Eternal vengeance on Britannia's fhore;
In filent grief, amid distraction wild,
The wretched parent mourn her long-loft child:
These scenes appear when death, in terror dreft,
Bids fharp repentance wound the fhudd'ring breaft,
When o'er your heads th' avenging thunders roll,
And quick deftruction feems to fnatch the foul;
When faft around the dreadful lightnings fall,
And guilt shall hear th' incens'd Almighty's call;
Then will his wrath deftroy the life he gave,
And juftice fnatch the foul that mercy could not
Britain, be thine the glorious task to heal
The bleeding wounds thy wretched fons thall feel;
Extend thy ev'ry noble pow'r to fave
The wretch juft toit'ring o'er an early grave;
For, noble were the deed that could impart
Reviving vigour to the drooping heart;
For, then no more the fatal branch thall bind,
In golden ties, the loft enchanted mind;
Tear ev'ry fibre from the verdant root,
And blaft each dang'rous bloffom ere it shoot;
So fhall the praise of ranfom'd millions rife,
In grateful incenfe, to the echoing skies;
So through the world thy matchlefs fame extend,
And wond'ring nations hail thee mercy's friend;
Thee, firft in ev'ry virtue, ev'ry worth,
That gives to glory or to genius birth;
Let thy avenging, thy all-conqu 'ring, hand
Give peace and freedom to an injur'd land!
Glory be thine; and let pale mis'ry prove
The joys of friendship and the blifs of love!
And heav'nly liberty's celeftial ray
Beam o'er the world one pure eternal day!
$342, A Prayer in the Profpect of Death. BURNS.
THOU unknown Almighty Caufe
Of all my hope and fear!
In whofe dread Prefence, ere an hour,
Perhaps I must appear!
If I have wander'd in thofe paths
Of life I ought to shun,
As Something loudly in my breast
Remonftrates I have done;
Thou know'ft that Thou haft formed me
With paffions wild and strong;
And lift'ning to their witching voice
Has often led me wrong.
Where human weaknefs has come fhort,
Or frailty stepp'd afide,
Do Thou, All-Good! for fuch Thou art,
In fhades of darkness hide.
Where with intention I have err'd,
No other plea I have,
But, Thou art good, and goodne's ftill
Delighteth to forgive.
§343. The Genealogy of Chrift, as it is reprefented on the East Window of Winchester College | Chapel. Written at Winton School, by Dr. LOW TH.
AT once to raife our rev'rence and delight,
To elevate the mind, and pleafe the fight,
To pour in virtue at th' attentive eye,
And waft the foul on wings of echtaly;
For this the painter's art with nature vies,
And bids the vifionary faint arife:
Who views the facred forms in thought afpires,
Catches pure zcal, and, as he gazes, fires;
Feels the fame ardour to his breast convey'd;
Is what he fees, and emulates the fhade.
Thy ftrokes, great Artift, fo fublime appear,
They check our pleasure with an awful fear;
While thro' the mortal line the God you trace,
Author himfelf and Heir of Jeffe's race,
In raptures we admire thy bold defign,
And, as the fubject, own the hand divine.
While thro' thy work the rifing day shall stream,
So long fhall laft thine honour, praife, and name.
And may thy labours to the Mufe impart
Some emanation from her fifter art,
To animate the verfe, and bid it thine
In colours easy, bright, and ftrong as thine!
Supine on earth an awful figure lies,
While fofteft flumbers feem to feal his eyes;
The hoary fire Heaven's guardian care demands,
And at his feet the watchful angel ftands.
The form auguft and large, the mien divine,
Betray the founder of Meffiah's line.
Lo! from his loins the promis'd ftem afcend,
And high to Heaven its facred boughs extend:
Each limb productive of fome hero fprings,
And blooms luxuriant with a race of kings.
Th' eternal plant wide fpreads its arms around,
And with the mighty branch the myftic top is
And lo! the glories of th' illuftrious line
At their first dawn with ripen'd splendours fhine,
In David all exprefs'd; the good, the great,
The king, the hero, and the man complete.
Serene he fits, and fweeps the golden lyre,
And blends the prophet's with the poet's fire.
There Abfalom the ravish'd fceptre fways,
And his ftolen honour all his flame difplays:
The bafe ufurper Youth! who joins in one
The rebel fubject and th' ungrateful fon.
Amid the royal race, fee Nathan stand:
Fervent he feems to fpeak, and lift his hand;
His looks th' emotion of his foul disclose,
And eloquence from ev'ry gefture flows.
Such, and fo ftern he came, ordain'd to bring
Th' ungrateful mandate to the guilty King:
When, at his dreadful voice, a fudden fmart
Shot thro' the trembling monarch's conscious heart,
From his own lips condemn'd; fevere decree !
Had his God prov'd fo ften a Judge as He.
But man with frailty is allied by birth;
Confummate purity ne'er dwelt on earth:
Thro' all the foul tho' virtue holds the rein,
Beats at the heart, and fprings in ev'ry vein,
Yet ever from the cleareft fource have ran
Some grofs alloy, fome tincture of the man.
But who is he deep mufing in his mind,
He feems to weigh in reafon's fcales mankind;
Fix'd contemplation holds his fteady eyes-
I know the fage +, the wifeft of the wife.
Bleft with all man could with, or prince obtain,
Yet his great heart pronounc'd those bleffings vain.
And lo! bright glittering in his facred hands,
In miniature the glorious temple stands.
Effulgent frame! ftupendous to bel old !
Gold the firong valves, the roof of burnish'd gold.
The wand'ring ark, in that bright dome enfhrin'd,
Spreads the ftrong light, eternal, unconfin'd!
Above th' unutterable glory plays,
Prefence divine! and the full-ftreaming rays
Pour thro' reluctant clouds intolerable blaze.
But ftern oppreflion rends Reboam's reign;
See the gay prince, injurious, proud, and vain!
Th' imperial fceptre totters in his hand,
And proud rebellion triumphs in the land.
Curs'd with corruption's ever-fruitful spring,
A beardlefs Senate, and a haughty King.
There Afa, good and great, the fceptre bears,
Juftice attends his peace, fuccefs his wars:
While virtue was his fword and Heaven his fhield,
Without controul the warrior fwept the field;
See! with what art he ftrikes the vocal ftrings,Loaded with fpoils, triumphant he return'd,
The God, his theme, infpiring what he fings!
Hark-or our cars delude us-from his tongue
Sweet flows, or feems to flow, fome heavenly tong.
Oh could thine art arreft the fleeting found,
And paint the voice in magic numbers bound;
Could the warm fun, as erft when Memnon play'd,
Wake with his rifing beam the vocal fhade;
Then might he draw th' attentive angels down,
Bending to hear the lay, fo fweet, fo like their own.
On either fide the monarch's offspring thine,
And fome adorr, and fome difgrace their line.
Here Ammon glories; proud incestuous lord!
This hand fuftains the robe, and that the fword.
Frowning and fierce, with haughty ftrides he
And on his horrid brow defiance low'rs.
And half her fwarthy fons fad Ethiopia mourn'd.
But fince thy flagging piety decay'd,
And barter'd God's defence for human aid;
See their fair laurels wither on thy brow,
Nor herbs nor healthful arts avail thee now,
Nor is Heav'n chang'd,apoftate prince, but thou.
No mean atonement does this lapfe require;
But fee the Son, you must forgive the Sire:
He, the juft prince-with ev'ry virtue bleft
He reign'd, and goodness all the man poffets'd;
Around his throne fair happinefs and peace
Smooth'd ev'ry brow, and imil'd in ev'ry face.
As when along the burning wafte he ftray'd,
Where no pure ftreams in bubbling mazes play'd,
Where drought incumbent on the thirsty ground
Long fince had breath'd her fcorching blafts around,
The prophet calls, th' obedient floods repair
To the parch'd fields, for Jofaphat was there.
The new-fpring waves, in many a gurgling vein,
Trickle luxurious through the fucking plain;
Fresh honours the reviving fields adorn,
And o'er the defert plenty pours her horn.
So, from the throne his influence he fheds,
And bids the virtues raife their languid heads:
Where'er he goes, attending Truth prevails,
Oppreffion flies, and Juftice lifts her fcales.
See, on his arm the royal eagle stand,
Great type of conquest and fupreme command;
Th' exulting bird diftinguifh'd triumph brings,
And greets the Monarch with expanded wings.
Fierce Moab's fons prevent th' impending blow,
Rush on themfelves, and fall without the foe.
The pious hero vanquifh'd Heaven by pray'r;
His faith an army, and his vows a war.
Thee too, Ozias, fates indulgent bless'd,
And thy days fhone in fairest actions drest:
Till that rafh hand, by fome blind phrenfy fway'd,
Unclean, the facred office durft invade.
Quick o'er thy limbs the fcurfy venom ran,
And hoary filth besprinkled all the man.
Tranfmiffive worth adorns the pious † Son,
The father's virtues with the father's throne.
Lo! there he ftands: he who the rage fubdued
Of Ammon's fons, and drench'd his fword in
And doft thou, Ahaz, Judah's scourge, difgrace
With thy bafe front the glories of thy race?
See the vile King his iron fceptre bear-
His only praise attends the pious Heir;
He, in whofe foul the virtues all confpire,
The best good fon from the worst wicked fire.
And lo! in Hezekiah's golden reign,
Long exil'd piety returns again;
Again in genuine purity fhe fhines, [fhrines.
And with her prefence gilds the long-neglected
Ill-ftarr'd does proud Affyria's impious & Lord
Bid Heaven to arms, and vaunt his dreadful fword;
His own vain threats th' infulting King o'erthrow,
But breathe new courage on the gen'rous foc.
Th' avenging Angel, by divine command,
The fiery fword full-blazing in his hand,
Leant down from heav'n: amid the ftormherode,
March'd Peftilence before him; as he trod,
Pale Defolation bath'd his steps in blood.
Thick wrapt in night thro' the proud hoft he pafs'd,
Difpenfing death, and drove the furious blast;
Nor bade Deftruction give her revels o'er
Till the gorg'd fword was drunk with human gore.
But what avails thee, pious prince, in vain
Thy fceptre refcued, and th' Affyrian flain ?
Even now the foul maintains her lateft ftrife,
And death's chill grasp congeals the fount of life.
Yet fee, kind Heaven renews thy brittle thread,
And rolls full fifteen fummers o'er thy head;
Lo! the receding fun repeats his way,
And, like thy life, prolongs the falling day.
Tho' nature her inverted courfe forego,
The day forget to rest, the time to flow,
Yet shall Jehovah's fervants sland secure,
His mercy fix'd, eternal fhall endure;
On them her ever-healing rays fhall thine;
More mild and bright, and fure, Ofun! than thine.
At length the long-expected Prince behold,
The laft good King; in ancient days foretold,
When Bethel's altar fpoke his future fame,
Rent to its bafe, at good Jofiah's name.
Bleft, happy prince! o'er whofe lamented urn,
In plaintive fong, all Judah's daughters mourn;
For whom fad Sion's fofteft forrow flows,
And Jeremiah pours his fweet melodious woes.
But now fallen Sion, once the fair and great,
Sits deep in duft, abandon'd, defolate;
Bleeds her fad heart, and ever ftream her eyes,
And anguish tears her with convulfive fighs.
The mournful captive fpreads her hands in vain,
Her hands, that rankle with the fervile chain;
Till he, great Chief! in Heaven's appointed time,
Leads back her children to their native clime.
Fair liberty revives with all her joys,
And bids her envied walls fecurely rife.
And thou, great hallow'd dome, in ruin spread,
Again fhalt lift fublime thy facred head.
But, ah! with weeping eyes, the ancients view
A faint refemblance of the old in you.
No more th' effulgent glory of thy God
Speaks awful anfwers from the myftic cloud;
No more thine altars blaze with fire divine;
And Heaven has left thy folitary shrine.
Yet, in thy courts, hereafter fhalt thou fee,
Prefence immediate of the Deity, [Thee.
The light himfelf reveal'd, the God confefs'd in
And now at length the fated term of years
The world's defire have brought, and lo! the God
The Heavenly Babe the Virgin Mother bears,
And her fond looks confefs the parent's cares;
The pleasing burden on her breast she lays,
Hangs o'er his charms, and with a smile furveys:
The infant fimiles, to her fond bofom prest,
And wantons, fportive, on the mother's breaft.
A radiant glory fpeaks him all Divine,
And in the Child the beams of Godhead fhine.
But now, alas! far other views difclofe
The blackeft comprehenfive fcene of woes.
See where man's voluntary facrifice
Bows his meek head, and God eternal dies!
Fixt to the Crofs his healing arms are bound,
While copious Mercy ftreams from ev'ry wound.
Mark the blood-drops that life exhaufting roll,
And the ftrong pang that rends the ftubborn foul,
As all death's tortures, with fevere delay,
Exult and riot in the nobleft prey!
And canft thou, ftupid man, thofe forrows fee,
Nor fhare the anguish which He bears for thee?
Thy fin, for which his facred flesh is torn,
Points ev'ry nail, and sharpens ev'ry thorn.
Canft thou-while nature fmarts in ev'ry wound,
And each pang cleaves the fympathetic ground!
Lo! the black fun, his chariot backward driven,
Blots out the day, and perifies from Heaven: