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Let this mortal frame decay,
Mingled with its kindred clay;
Since thy mercies, oft of old
By thy chofen feers foretold,
Faithful new and stedfast
prove,
God of truth, and God of love!
Since at length my aged eye
Sees the day-fpring from on high!
Son of righteoufnefs, to thee,
Lo! the nations bow the knee;
And the realms of diftant kings
Own the healing of thy wings.
Those whom death had overspread
With his dark and dreary fhade,
Lift their eyes, and from afar
Hail the light of Jacob's Star;
Waiting till the promis'd ray
Turn their darkness into day.
See the beams, intenfely fhed,
Shine o'er Sion's favour'd head!
Never may they hence remove,
God of truth, and God of love!

§ 98. The Benedicite paraphrafed. MERRICK. YE works of God, on him alone,

In earth his footftool, heav'n his throne,
Be all your praife bestow'd;
Whofe hand the beauteous fabric made,
Whofe eye the finish'd work furvey`d,
And faw that all was good.
Ye angels, that with loud acclaim
Admiring view'd the new-born frame,

And hail'd th' Eternal King,
Again proclaim your Maker's praise;
Again your thankful voices raife,

And touch the tuneful ftring.
Praise him, ye bleft æthereal plains,
Where, in full majefty, he deigns
To fix his awful throne:
Ye waters that above him roll,
From orb to orb, from pole to pole,

O make his praises known!

Ye thrones, dominions, virtues, pow`rs,
Join ye your joyful fongs with ours;
With us your voices raife;
From age to age extend the lay,
To heaven's Eternal Monarch
Hymns of eternal praife.

Celestial orb! whofe

pay

pow'rful ray Opes the glad eyelids of the day,

Whofe influence all things own; Praise him, whose courts effulgent fhine With light as far excelling thine,

As thine the paler moon.
Ye glitt ring plancts of the sky,
Whofe lamps the abfent fun fupply,

With him the fong purfuc;
And let himself fubmitive own,
He borrows from a brighter Sun
The light he lends to you

Ye fhow'rs and dews, whofe moisture shed
Calls into life the op'ning feed,

To him your praifes yield,
Whofe influence wakes the genial birth,
Drops fatnefs on the pregnant earth,

And crowns the laughing field.
Ye winds, that oft tempeftuous fweep
The rutiled furface of the deep,

With us confefs your God,
See thro' the heav'ns the King of kings,
Upborne on your expanded wings,
Come flying all abroad.

Ye floods of fire, where'er ye flow,
With juft fubmiffion humbly bow

To his fuperior pow'r,
Who ftops the tempeft on its way,
Or bids the flaming deluge stray,
And gives it ftrength to roar.
Ye fummer's heat, and winter's cold,
By turns in long fucceflion roll'd,

The drooping world to cheer,
Praife him who gave the fun and moon
To lead the various feafons on,

And guide the circling year.
Ye frofts, that bind the wat'ry plain,
Ye filent fhow'rs of fleecy rain,

Purfue the heav'nly theme;
Praife him who fheds the driving fnow,
Forbids the harden'd waves to flow,

And ftops the rapid stream.

Ye days and nights, that fwiftly borne
From morn to eve, from eve to morn,
Alternate glide away,

Praife him, whofe never-varying light,
Abfent, adds horror to the night,

But, prefent, gives the day.

Light, from whofe rays all beauty springs;
Darknefs, whofe wide-expanded wings

Involve the dufky globe;

Praife him who, when the heav'ns he fpread, Darknefs his thick pavilion made,

And light his regal robe.
Praife him, ye lightnings, as ye fly
Wing'd with his vengeance thro' the fky,
And red with wrath divine;
Praife him, ye clouds that wand'ring ftray,
Or, fix'd by him, in clofe array
Surround his awful fhrine.

Exalt, O carth! thy Heav'nly King,
Who bids the plants that form the fpring
With annual verdure bloom;
Whofe frequent drops of kindly rain
Prolific fwell the rip'ning grain,

And biefs thy fertile womb.
Ye mountains, that ambitious rife,
And heave your fummits to the fkies,
Revere his awful nod;
Think how you once affrighted fled,
When Jordan fought his fountain-head,
And own'd th' approaching God.

Ye

Ye trees, that fill the rural scene;
Ye flow'rs, that o'er th' enamell'd green
In native beauty reign;

O praife the Ruler of the skies,
Whofe hand the genial fap fupplies,
And clothes the fmiling plain.
Ye fecret fprings, ye gentle rills,
That murm'ring rife among the hills,
Or fill the humble vale;
Praise him, at whofe Almighty nod
The rugged rock diffolving flow'd,

And form'd a springing well.
Praife him, ye floods, and feas profound,
Whofe waves the spacious earth furround,
And roll from shore to fhore;
Aw'd by his voice, ye 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,
Praife him by whom ye all are fed ;
Praife him, without whofe 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 mufic found on ev'ry spray,

And fill the vocal grove.
Praise him, ye beafts, that nightly roam
Amid the folitary gloom,

Th' expected prey to seize;
Ye flaves of the laborious plough,
Your ftubborn necks fubmiffive bow,

And bend your wearied knees.
Ye fons of men, his praise display,
Who stampt 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 liften 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 fhrine

Before his altars kneel;
Where thron'd in majefty he dwells,
And from the mystic cloud reveals
The dictates of his will.
Ye fpirits of the juft and good,
That, eager for the blefs'd abode,

To heavenly manfions foar;
O let your fongs his praife difplay,
Till heaven itself shall melt away,

And time fhall be no more!
Praise him, ye meek and humble train,
Ye faints, whom his decrees ordain

The boundless blifs to fhare; O praife him, till ye take your way To regions of eternal day,

And reign for over there.

Let us, who now impaffive ftand, Aw'd by the tyrant's ftern command, Amid the fiery blaze;

While thus we triumph in the flame, Rife, and our Maker's love proclaim, In hymns of endless praise.

$99. 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 fpeechlefs fuppliant cries,
And utters, as it can,

The woes that in its bofom rife,

And speak its nature—man.

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

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

A childhood yet my thoughts confess,
Though long in years mature;
Unknowing whence I feel diftress,

And where, or what, its cure.
Author of good! to thee I turn:
Thy ever-wakeful eye
Alone can all my wants difcern;
Thy hand alone supply.

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 stubborn will
Prepoft'rous fhuns the latent good,
And grafps the specious ill;

Not to my wifh, but to my want,
Do thou thy gifts apply:
Unafk'd, what good thou knoweft grant;
What ill, tho' afk'd, deny.

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Oh how fhall I, with heart prepar'd,

Thofe terrors learn to meet ? How from the thousand fnares to guard My unexperienc'd feet?

As thus I mus'd, oppreffive fleep

Soft o'er my temples drew Oblivion's veil.-The wat'ry deep, An object ftrange and new, Before me rofe: on the wide fhore Obfervant as I ftood,

The gathering ftorms 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 unftrung,
Chill fear had fetter'd faft my feet,
And chain'd my fpeechlefs tongue.
I feel my heart within me die;

When fudden to mine car
A voice, defcending from on high,
Reprov'd my erring fear :

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

Reft, mortal, reft on God's decrec,

And thankful own his pow'r. Know, when he bade the deep appear, "Thus far," th' Almighty faid, "Thus far, nor father, rage; and here "Let thy proud waves be ftay'd." I heard; and, lo! at once controul'd, The waves, in wild retreat, Back on themselves reluctant roll'd, And murmuring left my feet.

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§ 101. Chrift's Paffion: from a Greek Ode of Mr
MASTER's, formerly of New College. PITT
N° To heaven, my mufe, afpire;
more of earthly fubiccts fing;

To raife the fong, charge ev'ry ftring,
And frike 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 crofs below.
Prodigious pile of wonders! rais'd too high
For the dim ken of frail mortality.
What numbers fhall I bring along?
From whence fhall I begin the fong?
The mighty myftery I'll fing, infpir'd
Beyond the reach of human wifdom wrought
Beyond the compafs of an angel's thought,
How by the rage of man his God expir'd.
I'll make the tracklefs depths of mercy known.
How to redeem his foe God render'd up his Sonz
I'll raife my voice to tell mankind

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

To feal more fure the rav'nous tomb. Three days, th' infernal empire to fubdue, He pafs'd triumphant through the coafts of woes 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 car, The fhouts of murd'rers that infult the flain, The voice of torment, and the fhicks of pain. I caft my eyes with horror up

To the curft mountain's guilty top;

See there! whom hanging in the midft 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 thofe,
Whole guilt confpires to fhed his blood.

His wide-extended arms I fee

Transfix'd with nails, and fasten'd to the tree
Man, fenfelefs man! canft thou look on,
Nor make thy Saviour's pains thy own?
The rage of all thy grief exert,
Rend thy garments 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 dvcd,
Nor dipt in poifon of Sidonian pride; [wound.
But in his own rich blood that streams from every
Doft thou not fee the thorny circle red?
The guilty wreath that blushes round his head?
And with what rage the bloody fcourge applied
Curls round his limbs, and ploughs into his fide!

Ac

At fuch a fight let all thy anguifh rife;
Break up, break up the fountains of thy eyes,
Here bid thy tears in gufhing torrents flow,
Indulge thy grief, and give a loofe to woe.
Weep from thy foul, till earth be drown'd;
Weep, till thy forrows drench the ground.
Canft thou, ungrateful man! his torment fee,
Nor
drop
a tear for him, who pours his blood
for thee?

§ 102. A Funeral Hymn. MALLET. YE midnight fhades, o'er nature spread!

Dumb filence of the dreary hour!
In honour of th' approaching dead,
Around your awful terrors pour.
Yes, pour around,
On this pale ground,

Through all this deep furrounding gloom,
The fober thought,
The tear untaught,
Thoft mecteft mourners at a tomb.
Lo! as the furplic'd train drew near
To this laft manfion of mankind,
The flow fad bell, the fable bicr,
In holy mufings wrap the mind!
And while their beam,
With trembling stream,
Attending tapers faintly dart;

Each mould'ring bone,
Each sculptur'd stone,

Strikes mute inftruction to the heart!
Now let the facred organ blow,
With folemn paufe, and founding flow;
Now let the voice due measure keep,

In strains that sigh, and words that weep;
Till all the vocal current blended roll,
Not to deprefs, but lift the foaring foul.

To lift it in the Maker's praife,

Who firft inform'd our frame with breath;
And, after some few stormy days,
Now, gracious, gives us o'er to Death.
No King of Fears

In him appears,
Who fhuts the fcene of human woes :
Beneath his fhade

Securely laid,

The dead alone find true repose.
Then, while we iningle duft with dust,
To One, fupremely good and wife,
Raife hallelujahs! God is juft,
And man most happy when he dies!
His winter paft,
Fair fpring at laft
Receives him on her flow'ry fhore;
Where pleasure's rofe
Immortal blows,

And fin and forrow are no more!

Come vifit ev'ry pious mind;
Come pour thy joys on human kind;
From fin and forrow fet us free,
And make thy 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 infpire;
Come, and thy facred unétion bring
To fanctify us, while we fing.

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

Who doit the gift of tongues difpenfe,
And crown'ft thy gift with cloquence ↓

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;

103. Veni Creator Spiritus, paraphrased.
DRYDEN.

CREATOR Spirit, by whose aid
The world's foundations first were laid,

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 fhould ftep aftray,
Protect and guide us in the way.
Make us eternal truths receive,
And practife all that we believe :
Give us thyfelf, that we may fee
The Father, and the Son, by thee.

Immortal honour, endless fame,
Attend th' Almighty Father's name :
The Saviour Son be glorified,
Who for loft man's redemption died;
And equal adoration be,
Eternal Paraclete, to thee!

$104. A Night Piece. Mifs CARTER.
WHILE night in folemn fhade invefts the pole,
And calin reflection foothes the penfive foul,
While reafon undisturb'd afferts her fway,
And life's deceitful colours fade away;
To thee! all-confcious Pref.nce! I devote
This peaceful interval of fober thought:
Here all my better faculties confine;
And be this hour of facred filence thine!

If, by the day's illufive feenes mified,
My eiring foul from virtue's path has ftray'd;
Snar'd by example, or by paffion warm'd,
Some falle delight my giddy fenfe has charm'd;
My calmer thoughts the wretched choice reprove,
And my beft hopes are center'd in thy love.
Deprived of this, can life one joy afford?
Its utmoft boaft a vain unmeaning word.

But, ah! how oft my lawlels pallions rove,
And break those awful precepts I approve!
Purfue the fatal impulie I abhor,
And violate the virtue I adore!
Oft, when thy better Spirit's guardian care
Warn'd my fond foul to fhun the tempting fnare,
My ftubborn will his gentle aid reprefs'd,
And check'd the rifing goodnefs in my breaft;
Mad with vain hopes, or urg'd by falfe defires,
Still'd his foft voice, and quench'd his facred fires.
With

F 2

F

With grief opprefs'd, and proftrate in the duft, Shouldst thou condemn, I own thy fentence juft. But, oh thy fofter titles let me claim, And plead my caufe by Mercy's gentle name. Mercy! that wipes the penitential tear, And diffipates the horrors of defpair; From righteous juftice fteals the vengeful hour, Softens the dreadful attribute of pow`r, Difarms the wrath of an offended God, And feals my pardon in a Saviour's blood! All-powerful Grace, exert thy gentle fway, And teach my rebel paffions to obey; Left lurking Folly, with infidious art, Regain my volatile inconftant heart! Shall every high refolve Devotion frames Be only lifelefs founds and fpecious names? Oh rather, while thy hopes and fears controul, In this ftill hour, each motion of my foul, Secure its fafety by a fudden doom, And be the foft retreat of fleep my tomb! Calm let me flumber in that dark repofe, Till the laft morn its orient beam difclofe : Then, when the great archangel's potent found Shall echo thro' creation's ample round, Wak'd from the fleep of death, with joy furvey The opening fplendours of eternal day.

§ 105.
Ode to Melancholy. CARTER.
COME, Melancholy! filent pow'r,
Companion of my lonely hour,
To fober thought confin'd!
Thou fweetly fad ideal gueft,
In all thy foothing charms confefs'd,
Indulge my pentive mind.

No longer wildly hurried through
The tides of mirth that cbb and flow
In folly's noify ftream,

I from the bufy crowd retire,
To court the objects that infpire

Thy philofophic dream.

Thro' yon dark grove of mournful yews
With folitary steps I mufe,

By thy direction led:
Here, cold to pleafure's tempting forms,
Confociate with my fifter worms,

And mingle with the dead.
Ve midnight horrors, awful gloom!
Ye filent regions of the tomb,

My future peaceful bed;
Here fall my weary eyes be clos'd,
And ev'ry forrow lic repos'd

In death's refreshing thade.
Ye pale inhabitants of night,
Before my intellectual fight

In folemn pomp afcend :
O tell how trifling now appears
The train of idle hopes and fears,
That varying life attend!

Ye faithlefs idols of our fenfe,
Here own how vain your fund
Ye empty names of joy

pretence,

Your tranfient forms like fhadows pass,
Frail offspring of the magic glais,
Before the mental eye.

The dazzling colours, falfely bright,
Attract the gazing vulgar fight

With fuperficial itate:
Thro' reafon's clearer optics view'd,
How ftripp'd of all its pomp, how rude,
Appears the painted cheat!

Can wild ambition's tyrant pow'r,
Or ill-got wealth's fuperfluous ftore,
The dread of death controul?
Can pleasure's more bewitching charms
Avert or foothe the dire alarms

That thake the parting foul?
Religion ere the hand of Fate
Shall make reflection plead too late,
My crring fenfes teach,
Amidft the flatt'ring hopes of youth,
To meditate the folemn truth

Thefe awful relics preach.

Thy penetrating beams difperfe
The mist of error, whence our fears
Derive their fatal spring:
'Tis thine the trembling heart to warm,
And foften to an angel form

The pale terrific king.

When, funk by guilt in fad defpair,
Repentance breathes her humble pray'r,
And owns thy threat'nings jutt,
Thy voice the fhudd'ring fuppliant cheers,
With mercy calms her torturing fears,
And lifts her from the duft.
Sublim'd by thee, the foul afpires
Beyond the range of low defires,
In nobler views clate:
Unmov'd her deftin'd change furveys,
And, arm'd by faith, intrepid pays
The univerfal debt.

In death's foft fumber lull'd to reft,
She fleeps, by finiling visions bleft,
That gently whisper peace:
Till the laft morn's fair op'ning ray
Unfolds the bright eternal day

Of active life and blifs.

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