He turn'd my follies from his gracious eye,

As men who país accounts, and caft them by.

What mouth has death, which can thy praise proclaim? What tongue the grave, to speak thy glorious name?

Or will the senseless dead exult with mirth,
Mov'd to their hope by promises on earth?
The living, Lord, the living only praise,
The living only fit to fing thy lays :
These feel thy favours, these thy temple see ;
These raise the song, as I this day to thee.
Nor will thy truth the prefent only reach,
This the good fathers fhall their offspring teach;
Report the bleffings which adorn my page,
And hand their own, with mine, from age to age.
So, when the Maker heard his creature crave,
So kindly rote his ready Will to fave,
Then march we folemn tow'rds the temple-door,
While all our joyful musick founds before;
There, on this day, through all my life appear,
When this comes round in each returning year;
There ftrike the ftrings, our voices jointly raise,
And let his dwellings hear my songs of praise.

Thus wrote the monarch, and I 'll think the lay
Defigned for publick, when he went to pray ;
I'll think the perfect compofition runs,
Perform'd by Heman's or Jeduthun's fons.
Then, fince the time arrives the Seer Foretold,
And the third morning rolls an orb of gold,
With thankful zeal, recover'd Prince, prepare
To lead thy nation to the dome of prayer.

My

My fancy takes her chariot once again, Moves the rich wheels, and mingles in thy train; She fees the fingers reach Moriah's hill, The minstrels follow, then the porches fill; She wakes the numerous inftruments of art, That each perform its own adapted part;. Seeks airs expreffive of thy grateful strains, And, liftening, hears the vary'd tune fhe feigns. From a grave pitch, to speak the monarch's woe, The notes flow down, and deeply found below; All long-continuing, while deprived of eate He rolls for tedious nights and heavy days. Here intermix'd with difcord, when the crane .Screams in the notes, through sharper fenfe of pain; There, run with defcant on, and taught to shake, When pangs repeated force the voice to break: Now like the dove they murmur, till in fighs They fall, and languish with the failing eyes:: Then flowly flackening, to furprize the more, From a dead pause his exclamations foar, To meet brisk health the notes ascending fly, Live with the living, and exult on high: Yet ftill diftinct in parts the mufick plays, Till prince and people both are call'd to praise; Then all, uniting, strongly strike the string, Put forth their utmoft breath, and loudly fing; The wide-spread chorus fills the facred ground, And holy tranfport fcales the clouds with found.

Or thus, or livelier, if their hand and voice Join'd the good anthem, might, the realm rejoice.

This story known, the learn'd Chaldeans came,
Drawn by the fign obferv'd, or mov'd by fame;
Thele afk the fact for Hezekiah done,

And much they wonder at their God the fun,
That thrice he drove, through one extent of day,
His gold-fhod horfes in etherial way:

Then vainly ground their guefs on nature's laws;
The foundest knowledge owns a greater caufe.

Faith knows the fact tranfcends, and bids me find What help for practice here incites, the mind : Strait to the fong, the thankful fong, I move.; May fuch the voice of every creature prove! If every creature meets its share of woe, And for kind refcues every, creature owe, In publick fo thy Maker's praise proclaim,

$

Nor what you begged with tears, conceal with fhamë. 'Tis there the ministry thy name repeat,

And tell what mercies were youchfaf'd of late;
Then joins the church, and begs, through all our days,
Not only with our lips, but lives, to praise.
'Tis there, our Sovereigns, for a fignal day
The feaft proclaim'd, their signal thanks repay.
O'er the long ftreets we see the chariots wheel,
And, following, think of Hezekiah still.

In the blefs'd dome we meet the white-rob'd choir,
In whose sweet notes our ravish'd fouls afpire;
Side answering fide, we hear, and bear a part,
All warm'd with language from the grateful heart;
Or raife the fong, where meeting keys rejoice,

And teach the bafe to wed the treble voice;

Art's

Art's foftening echoes in the mufick found,
And, answering nature's, from the roof rebound,
Here close my verfe, the fervice asks no more,
Blefs thy good God, and give the tranfport o'er.

HA BAKKU K.

NOW leave the porch, to vision now retreat, Where the next rapture glows with varying heat; Now change the time, and change the temple-fcene, The following Seer forewarns a future reign. To fome retirement, where the Prophets' fons Indulge their holy flight, my fancy runs ; Some facred college, built for praise and prayer, And heavenly dream, the feeks Habakkuk there. Perhaps 'tis there he moans the nation's fin, Hears the word come, or feels the fit within; Or fees the vifion, fram'd with angels' hands, Ands dread the judgments of revolted lands; Or holds a converfe, if the Lord appear, And, like Elijah, wraps his face for fear. This deep recefs portends an act of weight, A meflage labouring with the work of fate.

Methinks the skies have loft their lovely blue, Aftorm rides fiery, thick the clouds enfue. Fall'n to the ground, with proftrate face I lie : Oh! 'twere the fame in this to gaze and die! But hark the Prophet's voice; My prayers complain Of labour spent, of preaching urg'd in vain.

And

And muft, my God, thy forrowing fervant ftill
Quit my lone joys, to walk this world of ill?
Where spoiling rages, ftrife and wrong command,
And the flack'd laws no longer curb the land?

At this a ftrange and more than human found
Thus breaks the cloud, and daunts the trembling ground.
Behold, ye Gentiles; wondering all behold,
What scarce ye credit, though the work be told;
For, lo, the proud Chaldean troops I raise,

To march the breadth, and all the region feize;
Fierce as the prowling wolves, at close of day,
And fwift as eagles in pursuit of prey.
As eaftern winds to blaft the season blow,
For blood and rapine flies the dreadful foe;
Leads the fad captives, countless as the fand,
Derides the princes, and destroys the land.
Yet thefe, triumphant grown, offend me more,
And only thank the gods they chofe before.
• Art thou not holieft, here the prophet cries;
Supreme, Eternal, of the pureft eyes?

And fhall thofe eyes the wicked realms regard,
Their crimes be great, yet victory their reward ?
Shall thefe ftill ravage more and more to reign,
Draw the full net, and caft to fill again? ·
As watch-men filent fit, I wait to fee

How folves my doubt, what speaks the Lord to me.
Then go, the Lord replies, fufpend thy fears,
And write the vifion for a term of years:
Thy foes will feel their turn when those are past,
~Wait, though it tarry; fure it comes at last.