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The floek in wild diforder fly,
And caft behind a frequent eye;
But when the victim's borne away,
They rush to pafture and to play.

Indulge my dream, and let my pen
Paint thofe unmeaning creatures, men.
Carus, with pain and fickness worn,
Chides the flow night, and fighs for morn.
Soon as he views the castern ray,
He mourns the quick return of day;
Hourly laments protracted breath,
And courts the healing hand of death.

Verres, opprefs'd with guilt and fhaine, Shipwreck'd in fortune, health, and fame, Pines for his dark fepulchral bed, To mingle with th'unheeded dead.

With fourfcore years grey Natho bends A burden to himself and friends! And with impatience seems to wait The friendly hand and ling'ring Fate. So hirelings with their labour done, And often eye the western fun.

The monarch hears their various grief; Defcends, and brings the wish'd relief. On Death with wild furprize they star'd; All feem'd averfe! all unprepar'd!

As torrents fweep with rapid force,
The grave's pale chief purfu'd his courfe.
No human pow'r can or withstand,
Or fhun, the conquefts of his hand.

Oh! could the prince of upright mind,
And as a guardian-angel kind,
With ev'ry heart-felt worth befide,
Turn the keen fhaft of Death afide,
When would the brave Auguftus join
The ashes of his facred line?

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Could ableft ftatefmen ward the blow, Would Granville own this common foe? For greater talents ne'er were known To grace the fav'rite of a throne.

Could genius fave-wit, learning, fireTell me, would Chesterfield expire? Say, would his glorious fun decline, And fet like your pale ftar or mine? Could ev'ry virtue of the sky Would Herring +. Butler +, Secker, die? Why this addrefs to peerage all — Untitl'd Allen's virtues call! If Allen's worth demands a place, Lords, with your leave, 'tis no difgrace. Though high your ranks in heralds roils, Know, Virtue too ennobles fouls. By her that private man's renown'd Who pours a thousand bleffings round.

While Allen takes Affliction's part,
And draws out all his gen'rous heart,
Anxious to feize the fleeting day,
Left unimprov'd it steals away;
While thus he walks with jealous ftrife,
Through goodness, as he walks through life;
Shall not I mark his radiant path-
Rife, Mufe, and fing the Man of Bath!
Publifh abroad, could goodness fave,
Allen would difappoint the grave;
Tranflated to the heav'nly fhore,
Like Enoch, when his walk was o'er.

Nor Beauty's pow'rful pleas reftrain
Her pleas are trifling, weak, and vain;
For women pierce with fhrieks the air,
Smite their bare breafts, and rend their hair;
All have a doleful tale to tell,
How friends, fons, daughters, huß ands fell !
Alas! is life, our fav'rite theme-
'Tis all a vain or painful dream :
A dream which fools or cowards prize,
But flighted by the brave or wife.
Who lives for others ills must groan,
Or bleed for torrows of his own;
Muft journey on with weeping eye,
Then pant, fink, agonize, and die.

And shall a man arraign the skies, 'Because man lives, and mourns, and dies ? Impatient reptile!' Reafon cry'd;

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Arraign thy paffion and thy pride:

'Retire, and commune with thy heart;

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Afk, whence thou cam'ft, and what thou art Explore thy body and thy mind,

Thy ftation too, why here affign'd. "The fearch fhall teach thee life to prize, And make thee grateful, good, and wife. 'Why do you roam to foreign climes, To ftudy nations, modes, and times A fcience often dearly bought, And often what avails you nought? 'Go, man, and act a wifer part, Study the fcience of your heart: This home philofophy, you know, Was priz'd fome thousand years ago. Then why abroad a frequent gueft? Why fuch a ftranger to your breaft? Why turn fo many volumes o'er, Till Dodfley can fupply no more? Not all the volumes on thy fhelf Are worth that fingle volume, Self : For who this facred book declines, Howe'er in other arts he shines, Tho' fmit with Pindar's noble rage, 'Or vers'd in Tully's manly page; Tho' deeply read in Plato's fchool, • With all his knowledge, is a fool. 'Proclaim the truth-Say, what is man? His body from the duft began; And, when a few fhort years are o'er, • The crumbling fabric is no more.

Late Bishop of Durham.

Referring to the death of his late Royal Highnefs Frederick Prince of Wales. +Archbilt op of Canterbury. Bishop of Oxford. Know thy felf;' a celebrated faying of Chilo, one of the Seven Wife Men of Greece.

'But

• But whence the foul-From Heav'n it came! O prize this intellectual flame! This nobler felf with rapture fcan; 'Tis mind alone which makes the man. • Trust me, there's not a joy on earth, "But from the foul derives its birth. • Ask the young rake (he'll answer right) Who treats by day, and drinks by night, What makes his entertainments fhine? 'What gives the relish to his wine? He'll tell thee (if he scorns the beast) That focial pleafures form the feat. The charms of beauty too fhall cloy, Unless the foul exalts the joy. • The mind muft animate the face, • Or cold and tastelefs ev'ry grace.

What! must the foul her pow'rs dispense, To raise and fwell the joys of fenfe? Know, too, the joys of fenfe controul, And clog the motions of the fou!: • Forbid her pinions to aspire, • Damp and impair her native fire; And fure as Senfe (that tyrant) reigns, She holds the empreis, Soul, in chains, Inglorious bondage to the mind, • Heav'n-born, fublime, and unconfin'd! • She's independent, fair, and great, And justly claims a large eftate; She asks no borrow'd aids to thine; She boasts within a golden mine; But, like the treafures of Peru, "Her wealth lies deep, and far from view. Say, fhall the man, who knows her worth, 'Debafe her dignity and birth? • Or e'er repine at Heav'n's decree, Who kindly gave her leave to be? "Call'd her from nothing into day, • And built her tenement of clay.

Hear, and accept me for your guide
'(Reafon fhall ne'er defert your fide):
Who liftens to my wifer voice,
'Can't but applaud his Maker's choice;
• Pleas'd with that first and fov'reign cause,
'Pleas'd with unerring Wifdom's laws;
Secure, fince fov'reign goodness reigns;
Secure, fince fov'reign pow'r obtains.

With curious eyes review thy frame;
This science shall direct thy claim.
'Doft thou indulge a double view,
A long, long life, and happy too?
Perhaps a farther boon you crave→→
To lie down eafy in the grave.
Know, then, my dictates muft prevail,
'Or furely each fond with shall fail.

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Come, then, is happiness thy aim?

Let mental joys be all thy game.

Repeat the fearch, and mend your pace,
The capture fhall reward the chace.
'Let ev'ry minute, as it fprings,
Convey fresh knowledge on its wings;
Let ev'ry minute, as it flies,
Record the good as well as wife.

While fuch purfuits your thoughts engage,
In a few years you'll live an age.

'Who measures life by rolling years? Fools measure by revolving fpheres. 'Go thou, and fetch th'unerring rule. 'From Virtue's and from Witdom's fchool. 'Who well improves life's fhortest day Will fcarce regret its fetting ray; 'Contented with his fhare of light, 'Nor fear nor with th'approach of night: And when difeafe affaults the heart, • When sickness triumphs over art, 'Reflection on a life well paft,

Shall prove a cordial to the last ;
This medicine fhall the foul fuftain,
• And soften or fufpend her pain;
'Shall break Death's fell tyrannic pow'r,
And calm the troubl'd dying hour.'
Blefs'd rules of cool prudential age!
I liften'd, and rever'd the fage;
When, lo! a form, divinely bright,
Defcends, and bursts upon my fight;
A feraph of illuftrious birth
(Religion was her name on earth):
Supremely fweet her radiant face,
And blooming with celeftial grace !
Three fhining cherubs form'd her train,
Wav'd their light wings, and reach'd the plain.
Faith, with fublime and piercing eye,
And pinions flutt'ring for the sky;
Here Hope, that finiling angel, ftands,
And golden anchors grace her hands;
There Charity, in robes of white,
Faireft and fav'rite maid of light!

The feraph fpake 'Tis Reafon's part
To govern and to guard the heart;
To lull the wayward foul to reft
When hopes and fears diftract the breaft.
Reafon may calm this doubtful strife,

And fteer thy bark through various life:
'But when the forms of Death are nigh,
‹ And midnight darkness veils the sky,
'Shall Reafon then direct thy fail,

·

Difperfe the clouds, or fink the gale?
Stranger, this fkifl alone is mine,
Skill that tranfcends his fcanty line.

That hoary fage has counfell'd right,
Be wife, nor fcorn his friendly light.
Revere thy felf-thou'rt near allay'd
To angels on thy better fide.

'How various e'er their ranks or kinds, 'Angels are but unbody'd minds; When the partition walls decay, Men emerge angels from their clay;

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Yes, when the frailer body dies,

The foul afferts her kindred skies;

But minds, tho' fprung from heav'nly race, Muft first be tutor'd for the place. "(The joys above are understood, And relish'd only by the good.) Who fhall affume this guardian care? Who shall secure their birthright there? Souls are my charge to me 'tis giv'n To train them for their native heav'n. Know, then-Who bow the early knee, And give the willing heart to me;

• Who wifely, when Temptation waits,
Elude her frauds, and spurn her baits;
Who dare to own my injur'd caute,
• Tho' fools deride my facred laws;
• Or fcorn to deviate to the wrong,
Tho' Perfecution lifts her thong;
Tho' all the fons of hell confpire
• To raise the stake, and light the fire;
Know, that for fuch fuperior fouls,
There lics a blifs beyond the poles;
Where fpirits fhine with purer ray,
• And brighten to meridian day;

Where Love, where boundless Friendship rules
(No friends that change, no love that cools!)
Where rifing floods of knowledge roll,
And pour, and pour upon the foul!'
"But where's the paffage to the skies?".
The road thro' Death's black valley lies.
Nay, do not fhudder at my tale;
Tho' dark the fhades, yet fafe the vale.
This path the best of men have trod,
And who'd decline the road to God?
O! 'tis a glorious boon to die!
• This favout can't be priz'd too high.'
While thus fhe fpake, my looks expreft
The raptures kindling in my breaft :
My foul a fix'd attention gave;
When the ftern Monarch of the Grave,
With haughty ftrides, approach'd-amaz'd
I ftood, and trembl'd as I gaz'd.
The feraph calm'd each anxious fear,
And kindly wip'd the falling tear;
Then haften'd with expanded wing
To meet the pale, terrific king.
But now what milder scenes arife!
The tyrant drops his hoftile guife :
He feems a youth divinely fair;
In graceful ringlets waves his hair;
His wings their whit'ning plumes difplay;
His burnish'd plumes reflect the day:
Light flows his shining azure veft,
And all the angels ftand confeft.

I view'd the change with fweet furprize,
And, oh! I panted for the skies;
Thank'd Heav'n, that c'er I drew my breath,
And triumph'd in the thoughts of Death.

$221. Songs of Praife. WATTS.

A general Song of Praife to God.
HOW glorious is our heav'nly King,
Who reigns above the sky!
How fhall a child prefume to fing
His dreadful Majesty !

How great his pow'r is none can tell,
Nor think how large his grace;
Not men below, nor faints that dwell
On high before his face.

Not angels, that ftand round the Lord,
Can fearch his fecret will!

But they perform his heav'nly word,
And fing his praises itill.

Then let me join this holy train,
And my first off'rings bring;
Th'eternal God will not disdain
To hear an infant fing.

My heart refolves, my tongue obeys;
And angels fhall rejoice,
To hear their mighty Maker's praise
Sound from a feeble voice.

Praife for Creation and Providence.
I SING th'almighty pow'r of God,
That made the mountains rife;
That fpread the flowing feas abroad,
And built the lofty skies!

I fing the wisdom that ordain'd
The fun to rule the day;
The moon fhines full at his command,
And all the ftars obey.

I fing the goodness of the Lord,

That fill'd the earth with food;
He form'd the creatures with his word,
And then pronounc'd them good.
Lord, how thy wonders are display'd,
Where'er I turn mine eye!
If I furvey the ground I tread,
Or gaze upon the fky!

There's not a plant or flow'r below
But makes thy glories known;
And clouds arife, and tempefts blow,
By order from thy throne.
Creatures (as num'rous as they be)
Are fubject to thy care;

There's not a place where we can flce,
But God is present there.

In heav'n he fhines with beams of love;
With wrath in hell beneath!
'Tis on his earth I ftand or move,

And 'tis his air I breathe.

His hand is my perpetual guard;
He keeps me with his eye:
Why should I then forget the Lord,
Who is for ever nigh?

Praife to God for our Redemption.
BLEST be the wildom and the pow's,
The juftice and the grace,
That join'd in council to restore

And fave our ruin'd race!

Our father eat forbidden fruit,
And from his glory fell;
And we his children thus were brought
To death, and near to hell.
Bleft be the Lord that fent his Son

To take our flesh and blood;
He for our lives gave up his own,

To make our peace with God.
He honour'd all his Father's laws,
Which we have difobey'd;
He bore our fins upon the crofs,
And our full ransom paid.

→ It must be obvious to the reader, that thefe Songs, &c. of Watts are defigned for children only.

Behold

Behold him rising from the grave;
Behold him rais'd on high;
He pleads his merit, there to fave
Tranfgreffors doom'd to die.

There, on a glorious throne he reigns,
And, by his pow'r divine,
Redeems us from the flavish chains

Of Satan and of fin.

Thence fhall the Lord to judgment come,

And, with a fov'reign voice,
Shall call and break up ev'ry tomb,
While waking faints rejoice.

Q may I then with joy appear
Before the Judge's face,

And, with the blefs'd affembly there,
Sing his redeeming grace!

Praife for Mercies Spiritual and Temporal.
WHENE'ER I take my walks abroad,
How many poor I fee!
What fhall I render to my God
For all his gifts to me?

Not more than others I deferve,

Yet God has giv'n me more;
For I have food while others starve,
Or beg from door to door.
How many children in the street
Half naked I behold!

While I am cloth'd from head to feet,
And cover'd from the cold!

While fome poor wretches fearce can tell
Where they may lay their head,
I have a home wherein to dwell,
And reft upon my bed.

While others early learn to fwear,

And cutfe, and lie, and steal,
Lord, I am taught thy name to fear,
And do thy holy will.

Are thefe thy favours, day by day,
To me above the rest?

Then let me love thee more than they,
And try to ferve thee best..

Praife for Birth and Education in a Chriftian Land.

GREAT God, to thee my voice I raise,
To thee my youngeft hours belong;
I would begin my life with praife,
Till growing years improve the fong.
'Tis to thy fov'reign grace I owe

That I was born on British ground;
Where streams of heav'nly mercy flow,
And words of fweet falvation found.
I would not change my native land
For rich Peru, with all her gold:
A nobler prize lies in my hand

Than Eaft or Western Indies hold.
How do I pity those that dwell

Where ignorance or darkness reigns! They know no heav'n, they fear no hell; Thofe endless joys, thofe endless pains.

Thy glorious promifes, O Lord,
Kindle my hopes and my defire;
While all the preachers of thy word
War me to 'fcape eternal fire.
Thy praise fhall ftill employ my breath,
Since thou haft mark'd my way to heav'n;
Nor will I run the road to death,
And waste the bleffings thou haft giv❜n.
Praife for the Gospel.

LORD, I afcribe it to thy grace,

And not to chance, as others do,
That I was born of Christian race,
And not a Heathen or a Jew.
What would the ancient Jewish kings
And Jewish prophets once have giv❜n,
Could they have heard thofe glorious things
Which Chrift reveal'd, and brought from
heav'n!

How glad the Heathens would have been,
That worshipp'd idols, wood and ftone,
If they the book of God had feen,
Or Jesus and his gospel known!
Then, if this gospel I refuse,

How fhall I e'er lift up mine eyes!
For all the Gentiles and the Jews
Against me will in judgment rife.

Praife to God for learning to read.
THE praises of my tongue

I offer to the Lord,

That I was taught and learnt fo young
To read his holy word.
That I am brought to know
The danger I was in,
By nature and by practice too,
A wretched flave to fin.
That I am led to fee

I can do nothing well;
And whether fhall a finner flee
To fave himself from hell?
Dear Lord, this book of thine
Informs me where to go
For grace to pardon all my fin,
And make me holy too.
Here I can read, and learn

How Chrift, the Son of God,
Did undertake our great concern
Our ransom coft his blood.
And now he reigns above,

He fends his Spirit down
To fhew the wonders of his love,
And make his gospel known.

O may that Spitit teach,

And make my heart receive,

Thofe truths, which all thy fervants preachy.
And all thy faints believe.

Then fhall I praise the Lord,

In a more cheerful strain,
That I was taught to read his word,
And have not learnt in vain.

$222. The Excellency of the Bible demonftrated. | § 224. Solemn Thoughts concerning God and Death. WATTS.

WATTS.

GREAT God, with wonder and with praife,
On all thy works I look ;

But ftill thy wifdom, pow'r, and grace,
Shine, brightest in thy book.

The ftars that in their courfes roll,
Have much instruction giv❜n;
But thy good word informs my foul
How I may climb to heav'n.

The fields provide me food, and fhew
The goodness of the Lord;
But fruits of life and glory grow
In thy most holy word.

Here are my choiceft treasures hid,
Here my beft comfort lies:
Here my defires are fatisfy'd,

And hence my hopes arife.
Lord, make me understand thy law;
Shew what my faults have been;
And from thy gospel let me draw
Pardon for all my fin.

Here would I learn how Chrift has dy'd
To fave my foul from hell:

Not all the books on earth befide
Such heav'nly wonders tell..

Then let me love my Bible more,
And take a freth delight

By day to read these wonders o'er,
́And meditate by night.

$223. The All-feeing God. WATTS.

LMIGHTY God, thy piercing eye
Strikes thro' the fhades of night,
And our most secret actions lie
All open to thy fight.

There's not a fin that we commit,
Nor wicked word we fay,

But in thy dreadful book 'tis writ,
Against the judgment-day.

And muft the crimes that I have done
Be read and publish'd there?
Be all expos'd before the Sun,
While men and angels hear?
Lord, at thy foot afham'd I lie
Upward I dare not look!
Pardon my fins before I dic,

And blot them from thy book.
Remember all the dying pains
That my Redeemer felt,

And let his blood wash out my ftains,
And anfwer for my guilt.

O may I now for ever fear

T'indulge a finful thought,
Since the great God can fee and hear,
And writes down ev'ry fault.

THERE is a God that reigns above,

Lord of the heav'ns, and earth, and feas:

I fear his wrath, I ask his love,

And with my lips I fing his praife. There is a law, which he has writ,

To teach us all what we must do: My foul, to his commands fubmit, For they are holy, juft, and true. There is a gospel of rich grace,

Whence finners all their comforts draw &
Lord, I repent, and feck thy face,

For I have often broke thy law.
There is an hour when I muft die,
Nor do I know how foon 'twill come
A thoufand children, young as I,

Are call'd by death to hear their doom.
Let me improve the hours I have,

Before the day of grace is fled :
There's no repentance in the grave,
Nor pardons offer'd to the dead.
Juft as the tree, cut down, that fell

To north or fouthward, there it lies;
So man departs to heav'n or hell,
Fix'd in the state wherein he dies.

$ 225. Heaven and Hell. WATTS. THERE is beyond the fky

A heav'n of joy and love; And holy children, when they die, Go to that world above.

There is a dreadful hell,

And everlasting pains:

There finners must with devils dwell,
In darkness, fire, and chains.
Can fuch a wretch as I

Escape this curfed end?

And may I hope, whene'er I die,
I fhall to heav'n ascend?

Then wi!! I read and pray,

While I have life and breath; Left I fhould be cut off to-day, And fent t'eternal death.

6226. The Advantages of Early Religion.

WATTS

HAPPY the child whose tender years

inftructions well:

Who hates the finner's path, and fears
The road that leads to hell.
When we devote our youth to God,
'Tis pleasing in his eyes;
A flow'r, when offer'd in the bud,
Is no vain facrifice.

'Tis cafier work, if we begin,

To fear the Lord betimes; While finners that grow old in fin Are harden'd in their crimes.

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