Here, disappointments my best schemes destroy;
There, those that sow'd in tears shall reap in joy.
Here, vanity is stamp'd on all below;

Perfection there on ev'ry good shall grow.

Here, my

fond heart is fasten'd on some friend,

Whose kindness may, whose life must have an end: But there, no failure can I ever prove,

GOD cannot disappoint, for God is love.

Here, Christ for sinners suffer'd, groan'd, and bled;
But there, He reigns the great triumphant head :
Here, mock'd and scourg'd he wore a crown of thorns;
A crown of glory there his brow adorns.

Here, error clouds the will, and dims the sight;
There, all is knowledge, purity, and light.
Here, so imperfect is this mortal state,
If blest myself, I mourn some other's fate.
At every human woe I here repine;

The joy of ev'ry saint shall there be mine.
Here, if I lean, the world shall pierce my heart;
But there, that broken reed and I shall part.
Here, on no promis'd good can I depend ;
But there, the Rock of Ages is my friend.
Here, if some sudden joy delight inspire,
The dread to lose it damps the rising fire;
But there, whatever good the soul employ,
The thought that 'tis eternal crowns the joy.

THE IMPOSSIBILITY CONQUERED:

OR,

LOVE YOUR NEIGHBOUR AS YOURSELF.

IN THE MANNER OF SIR WALTER RALEIGH.

THE OBJECTOR.
I.

EACH man who lives, the Scriptures prove,
Must as himself his neighbour love;
But though the precept's full of beauty,
'Tis an impracticable duty :

I'll prove how hard it is to find

A lover of this wondrous kind.

II.

Who loves himself to great excess,
You'll grant must love his neighbour less:
When self engrosses all the heart
How can another have a part?

Then if self-love most men inthrall,
A neighbour's share is none at all.
III.

Say, can the man who hoards up pelf
E'er love his neighbour as himself?
For if he did, would he not labour
To hoard a little for his neighbour?

Then tell me, friend, can hoarding elves
E'er love their neighbour as themselves?

IV.

The man whose heart is bent on pleasure
Small love will to his neighbour measure:
Who solely studies his own good,
Can't love another if he would:

Then how can pleasure-hunting elves
E'er love their neighbour as themselves?
V.

Can he whom sloth and loit'ring please
E'er love his neighbour like his ease?
Or he who feels ambition's flame
Loves he his neighbour like his fame?
Such lazy, or such soaring elves

Can't love their neighbour as themselves.

VI.

He whose gross appetites enslave him,

Who spends on feasts the wealth God gave him; Full, pamper'd, gorged at ev'ry meal,

He cannot for the empty feel.

How can such gormandising elves

E'er love their neighbour as themselves?
VII.

Then since the man who lusts for gold,
Since he who is to pleasure sold;
Who soars in pride, or sinks in ease,
His neighbour will not serve or please;

Where shall we hope the man to find
To fill this great command inclined?
VIII.

I dare not blame God's holy word,
Nor censure Scripture as absurd :

But sure the rule's of no avail

If placed so high that all must fail;
And 'tis impossible to prove

That any can his neighbour love.

THE ANSWERER.

IX.

Yes, such there are of heavenly mould,
Unwarp'd by pleasure, ease, or gold;
He who fulfils the nobler part
By loving GOD with all his heart;

He, only he, the Scriptures prove,
Can, as himself, his neighbour love.
X.

Then join, to make a perfect plan,
The love of GOD to love of MAN;
Your heart in union both must bring,
This is the stream, and that the spring;

This done, no more in vain you'll labour,
A Christian can't but love his neighbour.
XI.

If then the rule's too hard to please ye,
Turn Christian, and you'll find it easy.
"Still 'tis impossible," you cry,

"In vain shall feeble nature try."

'Tis true; but know a CHRISTIAN is a creature

Who does things quite impossible to nature.

AND

JOYFUL ANTICIPATIONS:

ON BEING IMPORTUNED BY A FRIEND TO WRITE VERSES WHEN I WAS VERY ILL.

I

WRITE in verse? how hard to ask!

Expect to ask in vain,

A hand unequal to the task,

A head oppress'd with pain.

I lov'd, indeed, the Muse when young,
And faintly touch'd the lyre;
But long that lyre has lain unstrung,
Extinct the youthful fire.

Yet dwell I oft on scenes long past,
Scenes the fond heart retains;

There tender recollections last
Of mingled joys and pains.

For Mem'ry still delights to trace
Friends lov'd so long, so dear;
Blest with each talent, virtue, grace,
Such friends may claim a tear.

The rigid Moralist was ours,
Johnson of mighty mind;
Vigorous in intellectual powers,

At once both rough and kind. *

* When the author asked Dr. Johnson why he put his hands behind him when the celebrated French infidel Abbé Raynal held out his hand to him, his answer was, No, child; I will not shake hands with an Atheist to please you or any body else."