Ye days and nights, that swiftly borne
From morn to eve, from eve to morn,

Alternate glide away,

Praise him, whose never-varying light,
Abfent, adds horror to the night,
But, prefent, gives the day.
Light, from whose rays all beauty springs;
Darkness, whose wide-expanded

wings

Involve the dusky globe;
Praise him who, when the heav'ns he fpread,
Darkness his thick pavilion made,
And light his regal robe.
Praise him, ye lightnings, as ye fly
Wing'd with his vengeance thro' the sky,
And red with wrath divine;
Praise him, ye clouds that wand'ring stray,
Or, fix'd by him, in close array
Surround his awful fhrine.

Exalt, O earth! thy Heav'nly King,
Who bids the plants that form the fpring
With annual verdure bloom;
Whose frequent drops of kindly rain
Prolific fwell the rip'ning grain,
And bless thy fertile womb.
Ye mountains, that ambitious rife,
And heave your summits to the ikies,
Revere his awful nod;
Think how you once affrighted fled;
When Jordan fought his fountain-head,
And own'd the approaching God.

Ye trees, that fill the rural fcene;
Ye flow'rs, that o'er th' enamell'd green
In native beauty reign;
O praife the Ruler of the skies,
Whose hand the genial fap fupplies,
And clothes the fmiling plain.

Ye fecret springs, ye gentle rills,
That murm'ring rife among the hills,
Or fill the humble vale;
Praise him, at whose Almighty nod
The rugged rock diffolving flow'd,
And form'd a fpringing well.
Praise him, ye floods, and feas profound,
Whose waves the fpacious earth furround,
And roll from shore to fhore;
Aw'd by his voice, yc feas, fubfide;
Ye floods, within your channels glide,
And tremble and adore.

Ye whales, that ftir the boiling deep,
Or in its dark receffes fleep,

Remote from human eye,
Praise him by whom ye all are fed;
Praife him, without whose heavenly aid
Ye languish, faint, and die,

Ye birds, exalt your Maker's name;
Begin, and with th' important theme
Your artless lays improve;
Wake with your fongs the rifing day,
Let music found on ev'ry spray,
And fill the vocal grove.

(Praise him, ye beasts, that nightly roam Amid the folitary gloom,

Th' expected prey to seize;
Ye flaves of the laborious plough,
Your stubborn necks fubmiffive bow,
And bend your wearied knees.
Ye fons of men, his praise display,
Who stamp'd his image on your clay,
And gave it pow'r to move;
Ye that in Judah's confines dwell,
From age to age fucceffive tell
The wonders of his love.

Let Levi's tribe the lay prolong,
Till angels listen to the fong,

And bend attentive down;
Let wonder feize the heavenly train,
Pleas'd while they hear a mortal strain
So fweet, fo like their own.
And you your thankful voices join,
That oft at Salem's facred shrine
Before his altars kneel;
Where thron'd in majesty he dwells,
And from the mystic cloud reveals
The dictates of his will.

Ye spirits of the just and good,
That, eager for the blefs'd abode, abode

To heavenly manfions foar;
O let your fongs his praise display,
Till heaven itself shall melt away,
And time shall be no more!
Praise him, ye meek and humble train,
Ye faints, whom his decrees ordain
The boundless bliss to share;
O praife him, till ye take your way
To regions of eternal day,

And reign for ever there. Let us, who now impatsive stand, Aw'd by the tyrant's stern command, Amid the fiery blaze; While thus we triumph in the flame, Rife, and our Maker's love proclaim, In hymns of endless praife.

§94. The Ignorance of Man. MERRICK.

BEHOLD yon new-born infant griev'd
With hunger, thirst, and pain;
That afks to have the wants reliev'd
It knows not to complain.
Aloud the speechless suppliant cries,
And utters, as it can,
The woes that in its bosom rife,
And fpeak its nature-man.

That infant, whose advancing hour
Life's various forrows try

(Sad proof of fin's transmissive pow'r!),
That infant, Lord, am I.

A childhood yet my thoughts confefs,
Though long in years mature;
Unknowing whence I feel distress,
And where, or what, its cure.

Author

Author of good! to thee I turn:
Thy ever-wakeful eye

Alone can all my wants difcern;
Thy hand alone fupply.

O let thy fear within me dwell,
Thy love my footsteps guide;
That love shall vainer loves expel;
That fear all fears befide.

And, oh! by error's force fubdued,
Since oft my ftubborn will
Prepost'rous shuns the latent good,
And grafps the fpecious ill;
Not to my wish, but to my want,
Do thou thy gifts apply:
Unaik'd, what good thou knowest grant;
What ill, tho' ask'd deny.

§92.

The Trials of Virtue. MERRICK.

PLAC'D on the verge of youth, my mind
Life's op'ning scene survey'd;
I view'd its ills of various kind,
Aflicted and afraid.

But chief my fear the dangers mov'd,
That virtue's path inclose :

My heart the wise purfuit approv'd;
But, oh, what toils oppose!

For fee! ah fee! while yet her ways
With doubtful step I tread,
A hoftile world its terrors raife,

Its snares delusive spread.

Oh how shall I, with heart prepar'd,
Those terrors learn to meet?

How from the thousand snares to guard
My unexperienc'd feet ?

As thus I mus'd, oppreffive fleeр
Soft o'er my temples drew
Oblivion's veil.-The wat'ry deep,
An object strange and new,
Before me rose: on the wide shore
Observant as I stood,

The gathering storms around me roar,
And heave the boiling flood.

Near and more near the billows rife;
E'en now my steps they lave;
And death to my affrighted eyes
Approach'd in ev'ry wave.

What hope, or whither to retreat !
Each nerve at once unstrung,
Chill fear had fetter'd fast my feet,
And chain'd my speechless tongue.
I feel my heart within me die;
When fudden to mine ear
A voice, descending from on high,
Reprov'd my erring fear :

What tho' the swelling furge thou fee
Impatient to devour;

Rest, mortal, rest on God's decree,
And thankful own his pow'r.

Know, when he bade the deep appear, "Thus far," th' Almighty faid, "Thus far, nor farther, rage; and here "Let thy proud waves be stay'd." I heard; and, lo! at once controul'd, The waves, in wild retreat, Back on themfelves reluctant roll'd, And murmuring left my feet. Deeps to affembling deeps in vain Once more the fignal gave : The shores the rushing weight fustain, And check th' ufurping wave. Convinc'd, in Nature's volume wife, The imag'd truth I read; And fudden from my waking eyes Th' instructive vision fled.

،

Then why thus heavy, O my foul!

Say why, diftrustful still,

Thy thoughts with vain impatience roll

O'er scenes of future ill?

Let faith suppress each rifing fear,

Each anxious doubt exclude;

Thy Maker's will has plac'd thee here,
• A Maker wife and good!

He to thy ev'ry trial knows
• Its just restraint to give;
Attentive to behold thy woes,
And faithful to relieve.

Then why thus heavy, O my foul!
Say why, diftrustful still,

Thy thoughts with vain impatience roll
O'er scenes of future ill?

Tho' griefs unnumber'd throng thee round,
• Still in thy God confide,
Whose finger marks the feas their bound,
And curbs the headlong tide.'

§ 93. Cbrift's Paffion: from a Greek Ode of Mr. MASTERS, formerly of New College. PITT.

No more of earthly fubjects fing;
To heaven, my muse, afpire;
To raife the fong, charge ev'ry string,
And ftrike the living lyre.

Begin, in lofty numbers show
Th' Eternal King's unfathom'd love,
Who reigns the Sov'reign God above,
And fuffers on the cross below.
Prodigious pile of wonders! rais'd too high
For the dim ken of frail mortality.

What numbers shall I bring along ?
From whence fhall I begin the fong?
The mighty mystery I'll fing, infpir'd,
Beyond the reach of human wisdom wrought,
Beyond the compass of an angel's thought,
How by the rage of man his God expir'd.
I'll make the trackless depths of mercy known,
How to redeem his foe God render'd up his Son:
I'll raise my voice to tell mankind

The victor's conquest o'er his doom;
How in the grave he lay confin'd,

To feal more fure the rav'nous tomb.
F2

Three

Three days, th' infernal empire to fubdue,
He pafs'd triumphant through the coafts of woe;
With his own dart the tyrant Death he flew,
And led Hell captive through her realms below.

A mingled found from Calvary I hear,
And the loud tumult thickens on my ear,
The fhouts of murd'rers that infult the flain,
The voice of torment, and the shrieks of pain.

I caft my eyes with horror up

To the curst mountain's guilty top;

See there! whom hanging in the midst I view !
Ah! how unlike the other two!
I fee him high above his foes,
And gently bending from the wood
His head in pity down to those
Whofe guilt confpires to shed his blood.

His wide-extended arms I fee
Transfix'd with nails, and fasten'd to the tree.
Man, fenfeless man! canft thou look on,
Nor make thy Saviour's pains thy own?
The rage of all thy grief exert,
Rend thy garrnents and thy heart :
Beat thy breaft, and grovel low,
Beneath the burden of thy woe;
Bleed through thy bowels, tear thy hairs,
Breathe gales of fighs, and weep a flood of tears.
Behold thy King, with purple cover'd round,
Not in the Tyrian tinctures dyed,
Nor dipt in poifon of Sidonian pride;

But in his own rich blood that ftreams from every wound.

Doft thou not fee the thorny circle red? The guilty wreath that blushes round his head And with what rage the bloody scourge applied Curls round his limbs, and ploughs into his fide! At fuch a fight let all thy anguith rife; Break up, break up the fountains of thy eyes. Here bid thy tears in gushing torrents flow, Indulge thy grief, and give a loofe to woe. Weep from thy foul, till earth be drown'd; W'eep, till thy forrows drench the ground. Canft thou, ungrateful man! his tonments fee, Nor drop a tear for him, who pours his blood

for thee?

Attending tapers faintly dart; Each mould'ring bone,

Each sculpur'd flone,

Strikes mute instruction to the heart!

Now let the facred organ blow,
With folemn pause, and founding flow;
Now let the voice due measure keep,
In ftrains that figh, and words that weep,
Till all the vocal current blended roli,
Not to deprefs, but lift the foaring foul :

To lift it in the Maker's praise,

Who first inform'd our frame with breath,
And, after fome few stormy days,
Now, gracious, gives us o'er to death.
No King of Fears
In him appears,

Who shuts the feene of human woes:
Beneath his shade
Securely laid,

The dead alone find true repose.
Ther, while we mingle dust with dust,
To One, fupremely good and wife,
Raife hallelujahs! God is juft,
And man most happy when he dies t
His winter paft,
Fair fpring at laft

Receives him on her flow'ry shore;
Where pleafure's rofe
Immortal blows,

And fin and forrow are no more!

§ 95. Veni Creator Spiritus, parapbrafed. DRYDEN.

CREATOR Spirit, by whose aid

The world's foundations first were laid,
Come vifit ev'ry pious mind;
Come pour thy joys on human kind;
From tin and forrow fet us free,,
And make the temples worthy thee.

O fource of uncreated light,
The Father's promis'd Paraclete!
Thrice holy fount, thrice holy fire,
Our hearts with heavenly love inspire;
Come, and thy facred unction bring
To fanctify us, while we fing.

Plenteous of grace, descend from high,
Rich in thy fevenfold energy !
Thou ftrength of his Almighty hand,
Whose pow'r does heaven and earth command.
Proceeding Spirit, our defence,

Who doft the gift of tongues difpenfe,
And crown'st thy gift with eloquence!
Refine and purge our earthly parts;
But, oh, inflame and fire our hearts!
Our frailties help, our vice controul,
Submit the fenfes to the foul;
And when rebellious they are grown,
Then lay thy hand, and hold them down.
Chafe from our minds th' infernal foe,
And peace, the fruit of love, bestow;
And, left our feet should step aftray,
Protect and guide us in the way.

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