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The Vanity of Wealth.
O more thus brooding o'er yon heap,
With Avarice painful vigils keep;
With fcience tread the wond'rous way,
Thus taste the feast by nature spread,
An Address to the Deity.
OD of my And trembling, take upon a mortal tongue That hallow'd name to harps of Seraphs sung. Yet here the brightest Seraphs could no more Than veil their faces, tremble, and adore. Worms, angels, men, in every different sphere Are equal all, for all are nothing here. All nature faints beneath the mighty name, Which nature's works thro' all her parts proclaim. I feel that name my inmost thoughts controul, And breathe an awful stillness thro'
my As by a charm the waves of grief subfide, Impetuous passion stops her headlong tide : At thy felt presence all emotions cease, And my hush'd fpirit finds a sudden peace, 'Till every worldly thought within me dies, And earth's gay pageants vanish from my eyes ; Till all my sense is loft in infinite, And one vast object fills my aching fight.
But soon, alas! this holy calm is broke;
Such are the vows, the facrifice I give ;
If the soft hand of winning pleasure leads
If friendless, in a vale of tears I ftray, Where briars wound, and thorns perplex my way, Still let my steady foul thy goodness see, And with strong confidence lay hold on thee ; With equal eye my various lot receive, Refign'd to die, or resolute to live; Prepar'd to kiss the sceptre or the rod, While God is feen in all, and all in God.
I read his awful name, emblazon'd high With golden letters on the illumin'd sky; Nor less the mystic characters I fee Wrought in each flower, inscrib'd in every tree; In every
leaf that trembles to the breeze I hear the voice of God
the trees ; With thee in shady folitudes I walk, With thee in busy crowded cities talk, In every creature own thy forming power, In each event thy providence adore. Thy hopes shall animate my drooping foul, Thy precepts guide me, and thy fears controul : Thus shall I reft, unmov’d by all alarms, Secure within the temple of thine arms ;
From anxious cares, from gloomy terrors free,
Then when the last, the closing hour draws nigh,
To the Memory of Major Alderton, who was twice run
thro the body, and once foot: who, for bravery, charity, and generosity, few equall'd, and none excell'd.
Ilodge and the Razor-seller.
A Fellow mou a market town,
Most musical, cry'd razors up and down,
As ev'ry man would buy, with cash and sense.
That seem'd a shoe-brush stuck beneath his nose :
« 'This rascal stole the razors, I suppose.
« No matter if the fellow be a knave, « Provided that the razors bave ;
" It certainly will be a monstrous prize." So home the clown, with his good fortune went, Smiling in heart and soul content,
And quickly soap'd himself to ears and eyes.
Being well lather'd from a dish or tub,
Just like a hedger cutting furze:
“ I wish my eighteen-pence within my purse." In vain to chase his beard, and bring the graces,
He cut, and dug, and winc'd, and stamp'd, and swore ; Brought blood, and danc'd, blafphem'd, and made wry
faces, And curs'd each razor's body o'er and o'er.