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Nature imparting her satiric gift,

The shelves are full, all other themes are spec: Her serious mirth, to Arbuthnot and Swift, Hackney'd and worn to the last flimsy thread, With droll sobriety they rais'd a smile

Satire has long since done his best ; and curst At Folly's cost, themselves unmov'd the while. And loathsome Ribaldry has done his worst; That constellation set, the world in vain

Fancy has sported all her pow'rs away Must hope to look upon their like again.

In tales, in trifles, and in children's play ; A. Are we then left?-B. Not wholly in the dark; And 't is the sad complaint, and almost true, Wit now and then, struck smartly, shows a spark, Whate'er we write, we bring forth nothing new. Sufficient to redeem the modern race

'T were new indeed to see a bard all fire, From total night and absolute disgrace.

Touch'd with a coal from Heav'n, assume the lyre, While servile trick and imitative knack

And tell the world, still kindling as he sung, Confine the million in the beaten track,

With more than mortal music on his tongue, Perhaps some courser, who disdains the road, That He, wbo died below, and reigns above, Snuff's up the wind, and flings himself abroad. Inspires the song, and that his name is Love. Contemporaries all surpass'd, see one ;

For, after all, if merely to beguile, Short his career indeed, but ably run;

By flowing numbers and a flow'ry style, Churchill; himself, unconscious of his pow'rs, The tædium that the lazy rich endure, In penury consum’d his idle hours;

Which now and then sweet poetry may cure; And, like a scatter'd seed at random sown,

Or, if to see the name of idle self, Was left to spring by vigour of his own.

Stamp'd on the well-bound quarto, grace the shell, Lifted at length, by dignity of thought

To float a bubble on the breath of Fame, And dint of genius, to an affluent lot,

Prompt his endeavour and engage his aim, He laid his head in Luxury's soft lap,

Debas'd to servile purposes of pride, And took, too often, there his easy nap.

How are the pow'rs of genius misapplied ! If brighter beains than all he threw not forth, The gift, whose office is the Giver's praise, ”T was negligence in him, not want of worth. To trace him in his word, his works, his ways! Surly, and slovenly, and bold, and coarse,

Then spread the rich discov'ry, and invite Too proud for art, and trusting in mere force, Mankind to share in the divine delight, Spendthrift alike of money and of wit,

Distorted from it's use and just design,
Always at speed, and never drawing bit,

To make the pitiful possessor shine.
He struck the lyre in such a careless mood, To purchase, at the fool-frequented fair
And so disdain'd the rules he understood,

Of vanity, a wreath for self to wear,
The laurel seem'd to wait on his command, Is profanation of the basest kind -
He snatch'd it rudely from the Muses' hand. Proof of a trifling and a worthless mind.
Nature, exerting an unwearied pow'r,

A. Hail Sternhold, then ; and Hopkins, hail. Forms, opens, and gives scent to ev'ry flow'r;

B. Amen. Spreads the fresh verdure of the field, and leads If flatt'ry, folly, lust, employ the pen; The dancing Naiads through the dewy meads : If acrimony, slander, and abuse, She fills profuse ten thousand little throats Give it a charge to blacken and traduce; With inusic, modulating all their notes ; (known, Though Butler's wit, Pope's numbers, Prior's ease, And charms the woodland scenes, and wilds un- With all that fancy can invent to please, With artless airs and concerts of her own :

Adorn the polish'd periods as they fall, But seldom (as if fearful of expense)

One madrigal of theirs is worth them all. Vouchsafes to man a poet's just pretence.

A. 'T would thin the ranks of the poetic tribe, Fervency, freedom, fluency of thought,

To dash the pen through all that you proscribe. Harmony, strength, words exquisitely sought; B. No matter – we could shift when they were Fancy, that from the bow, that spans the sky,

not ;
Brings colours, dipp'd in Heav'n, that never die; And should, no doubt, if they were all forgot.
A soul exalted above Earth, a mind
Skill'd in the characters that form mankind;
And, as the Sun in rising beauty dress'd,
Looks to the westward from the dappled east,

CONVERSATION.
And marks, whatever clouds may interpose,
Ere yet his race begins, it's glorious close;

Nam neque me tantum venientis sibilus austri, An eye like his to catch the distant goal ;

Nec percussa juvant fluctu tam litora, nec quæ Or, ere the wheels of verse begin to roll,

Saxosas inter decurrunt flumina valles. Like his to shed illuminating rays

Virg. Ecl. v. On ev'ry scene and subject it surveys : Thus grac'd, the man asserts a poet's name,

Though Nature weigh our talents, and dispense
And the world cheerfully admits the claim. To ev'ry man his modicum of sense,
Pity Religion has so seldom found

And Conversation in it's better part
A skilful guide into poetic ground! (stray, May be esteem'd a gift, and not an art,
The flow'rs would spring where'er she deign’d to Yet much depends, as in the tiller's toil,
And ev'ry Muse attend her in her way.

On culture, and the sowing of the soil.
Virtue indeed meets many a rhyming friend, Words learn'd by rote a parrot may rehearse,
And many a compliment politely penn'd;

But talking is not always to converse ; But, unattir'd in that becoming vest

Not more distinct from harmony divine, Religion weaves for her, and half undressid, The constant creaking of a country sign. Stands in the desert, shiv'ring and forlorn,

As Alphabets in ivory employ, A wint’ry figure, like a wither'd thorn.

Hour after hour, the yet unletter'd boy,

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Sorting and puzzling with a deal of glee

Ye pow'rs who rule the tongue, if such there are, Those seeds of science called his A B C;

And make colloquial happiness your care, So language in the mouths of the adult,

Preserve me from the thing I dread and hate, Witness it's insignificant result,

A duel in the form of a debate. Too often proves an implement of play,

The clash of arguments and jar of words, A toy to sport with, and pass time away.

Worse than the mortal brunt of rival swords, Collect at ev'ning what the day brought forth, Decide no question with their tedious length, Compress the sum into it's solid worth,

For opposition gives opinion strength, And if it weigh th' importance of a fly,

Divert the champions prodigal of breath, The scales are false, or algebra a lie.

And put the peaceably-dispos'd to death. Sacred interpreter of human thought,

O thwart me not, Sir Soph, at ev'ry turn, How few respect or use thee as they ought ! Nor carp at ev'ry flaw you may discern; But all shall give account of ev'ry wrong,

Though syllogisms hang not on my tongue, Who dare dishonour or defile the tongue;

I am not surely always in the wrong; Who prostitute it in the cause of vice,

'T is hard if all is false that I advance, Or sell their glory at a market-price;

A fool must now and then be right by chance. Who vote for hire, or point it with lampoon,

Not that all freedom of dissent I blame; The dear-bought placeman, and the cheap buf- No-there I grant the privilege I claim; foon.

A disputable point is no man's ground; There is a prurience in the speech of some, Rove where you please, 't is common' all around. Wrath stays him, or else God would strike them Discourse may want an animated No, dumb:

To brush the surface, and to make it flow; His wise forbearance has their end in view,

But still remember, if you mean to please,
They fill their measure, and receive their due. To press your point with modesty and ease.
The heathen law-givers of ancient days,

The mark, at which my juster aim I take,
Names almost worthy of a Christian's praise, Is contradiction for it's own dear sake.
Would drive them forth from the resort of men, Set your opinion at whatever pitch,
And shut up ev'ry satyr in his den.

Knots and impediments make something hitch ; O come not ye near innocence and truth,

Adopt his own, 't is equally in vain, Ye worms that eat into the bud of youth !

Your thread of argument is snapp'd again ; Infectious as impure, your blighting pow'r The wrangler, rather than accord with you, Taints in it's rudiments the promis'd flow'r; Will judge himself deceiv'd, and prove it too. It's odour perish'd, and it's charming hue,

Vociferated logic kills me quite, Thenceforth 't is hateful, for it smells of you. A noisy man is always in the right, Not ev’n the vigorous and headlong rage

I twirl my thumbs, fall back into my chair, Of adolescence, or a firmer age,

Fix on the wainscot a distressful stare, Affords a plea allowable or just

And, when I hope his blunders are all out, For making speech the pamperer of lust ;

Reply discreetly—“ To be sure -- no doubt !” But when the breath of age commits the fault, Dubius is such a scrupulous good man 'T is nauseous as the vapour of a vault.

Yes - you may catch him tripping, if you can. So wither'd stumps disgrace the sylvan scene,

He would not, with a peremptory tone, No longer fruitful, and no longer green;

Assert the nose upon his face his own; The sapless wood divested of the bark,

With hesitation admirably slow, Grows fungous, and takes fire at ev'ry spark. He humbly hopes - presumes - it may be so.

Oaths terminate, as Paul observes, all strife - His evidence, if he were call’d by law Sorne men have surely then a peaceful life; To swear to some enormity he saw, Whatever subject occupy discourse,

For want of prominence and just relief, The feats of Vestris, or the naval force,

Would hang an honest man, and save a thief. Asseveration blust'ring in your face

Through constant dread of giving truth offence, Makes contradiction such a hopeless case :

He ties up all his hearers in suspense ; In ev'ry tale they tell, or false or true,

Knows what he knows, as if he knew it not ; Well known, or such as no man ever knew, What he remembers seems to have forgot ; They fix attention, heedless of your pain,

His sole opinion, whatsoe'er befall, With oaths like rivets forc'd into the brain;

Centring at last in having none at all. And ev'n when sober truth prevails throughout, Yet, though he tease and balk your list’ning ear, They swear it, till affirmance breeds a doubt. He makes one useful point exceeding clear ; A Persian, humble servant of the Sun,

Howe'er ingenious on his darling theme Who, though devout, yet bigotry had none, A sceptic in philosophy may seem, Hearing a lawyer, grave in his address,

Reduc'd to practice, his beloved rule With adjurations ev'ry word impress,

Would only prove him a consummate fool; Suppos'd the man a bishop, or at least,

Useless in him alike both brain and speech, God's name so much upon his lips, a priest ; Fate having plac'd all truth above his reach, Bow'd at the close with all his graceful airs, His ambiguities his total sum, And begg'd an int’rest in his frequent pray'rs. He might as well be blind, and deaf, and dumb.

Go, quit the rank to which'ye stood preferr'd, Where men of judgment creep and feel their way, Henceforth associate in one common herd; The positive pronounce without dismay; Religion, virtue, reason, common sense,

Their want of light and intellect supplied Pronounce your human form a false pretence; By sparks absurdity strikes out of pride. A mere disguise, in which a devil lurks,

Without the means of knowing right from wrong, Who yet betrays his secret by his works.

They always are decisive, clear, and strong;

Where others toil with philosophic force,

Of all ambitions man may entertain, Their nimble nonsense takes a shorter course; The worst, that can invade a fickly brain, Flings at your head conviction in the lump, Is that which angles hourly for surprise, And gains remote conclusions at a jump:

And baits it's hook with prodigies and lies. Their own defect, invisible to them,

Credulous infancy, or age as weak, Seen in another, they at once condemn;

Are fittest auditors for such to seek, And, though self-idoliz'd in ev'ry case,

Who, to please others, will themselves disgrace, Hate their own likeness in a brother's face. Yet please not, but affront you to your face. The cause is plain, and not to be denied,

A great retailer of this curious ware The proud are always most provok'd by pride. Having unloaded and made many stare, Few competitions but engender spite ;

“ Can this be true?” — an arch observer cries, And those the most, where neither has a right. “ Yes,” (rather mov'd,)“ I saw it with these eyes :"

The point of honour has been deem'd of use, “ Sir! Ì believe it on that ground alone; To teach good manners, and to curb abuse; I could not, had I seen it with my own." Admit it true, the consequence is clear,

A tale should be judicious, clear, succinct ;
Our polish'd manners are a mask we wear, The language plain, and incidents well link'd ;
And, at the bottom barb'rous still and rude, Tell not as new what ev'ry body knows,
We are restrain'd, indeed, but not subdu'd. And, new or old, still hasten to a close;
The very remedy, however sure,

There, centring in a focus round and neat,
Springs from the mischief it intends to cure, Let all your rays of information meet.
And savage in it's principle appears,

What neither yields us profit nor delight,
Tried, as it should be, by the fruit it bears. Is like a nurse's lullaby at night;
"T is hard, indeed, if nothing will defend

Guy Earl of Warwick, and fair Eleanore, Mankind from quarrels but their fatal end; Or giant-killing Jack, would please me inore. That now and then a hero must decease,

The pipe, with solemn interposing ruft, That the surviving world may live in peace. Makes half a sentence at a time enough; Perhaps at last close scrutiny may show

The dozing sages drop the drowsy strain, The practice dastardly, and mean, and low; Then pause, and puff - and speak, and pause again. That men engage in it compell’d by force,

Such often, like the tube they so admire, And fear, not courage, is it's proper source : Important triflers! have more smoke than fire. The fear of tyrant custom, and the fear

Pernicious weed! whose scent the fair annoys Lest fops should censure us, and fools should sneer. Unfriendly to society's chief joys, At least to trample on our Maker's laws,

Thy worst effect is banishing for hours And hazard life for any or no cause,

The sex, whose presence civilizes ours : To rush into a fix'd eternal state

Thou art, indeed, the drug a gard'ner wants, Out of the very flames of rage and hate,

To poison vermin that infest his plants; Or send another shiv'ring to the bar

But are we so to wit and beauty blind,
With all the guilt of such unnat'ral war,

As to despise the glory of our kind,
Whatever Use may urge, or Honour plead, And show the softest minds and fairest forms
On Reason's verdict is a madman's deed.

As little mercy, as he grubs and worms?
Am I to set my life upon a throw,

They dare not wait the riotous abuse, Because a bear is rude and surly? No

Thy thirst-creating steams at length produce, A moral, sensible, and well-bred man

When wine has giv'n indecent language birth, Will not affront me; and no other can.

And forc'd the food-gates of licentious mirth; Were I empower'd to regulate the lists,

For sea-born Venus her attachment shows They should encounter with well-loaded fists; Still to that element, from which she rose, A Trojan combat would be something new, And with a quiet, which no fumes disturb, Let Dares beat Entellus black and blue;

Sips meek infusions of a milder herb. Then each might show, to his admiring friends, Th’emphatic speaker dearly loves t'oppose, In honourable bumps his rich amends,

In contact inconvenient, nose to nose. And carry, in contusions of his skull,

As if the gnomon on his neighbour's phiz, A satisfactory receipt in full.

Touch'd with the magnet, had attracted his. A story, in which native humour reigns, His whisper'd theme, dilated and at large, Is often useful, always entertains :

Proves after all a wind-gun's airy charge, A graver fact, enlisted on your side,

An extract of his diary - no more, May furnish illustration, well applied ;

A tasteless journal of the day before. But sedentary weavers of long tales

He walk'd abroad, o'ertaken in the rain, Give me the fidgets, and my patience fails.

Callid on a friend, drank tea, stepp'd home again, 'Tis the most asinine employ on Earth,

Resum'd his purpose, had a world of talk To hear them tell of parentage and birth,

With one he stumbled on, and lost his walk. And echo conversations, dull and dry,

I interrupt him with a sudden bow Embellish'd with —" He said," and " So said I." " Adieu, dear sir! lest you should lose it now." At ev'ry interview their route the same,

I cannot talk with civet in the room, The repetition makes attention lame:

A fine puss-gentleman that's all perfume; We bustle up with unsuccessful speed,

The sight's enough -- no need to smell a beauAnd in the saddest part cry—“ Droll, indeed!" Who thrusts his nose into a raree-show? The path of narrative with care pursue,

His odoriferous attempts to please Still making probability your clew;

Perhaps might prosper with a swarm of bees ; On all the vestiges of truth attend,

But we that make no honey, though we sting, And let them guide you to a decent end.

Poets are sometimes apt to maul the thing.

'Tis wrong to bring into a mix'd resort,

By way of wholesome curb upon our pride,
What makes some sick, and others à-la-mort : To fear each other, fearing none beside.
An argument of cogence, we may say,

The cause, perhaps, inquiry may descry,
Why such a one should keep himself away. Self-searching with an introverted eye,

A graver coxcomb we may sometimes see, Conceal'd within an unsuspected part, Quite as absurd, though not so light as he: The vainest corner of our own vain heart : A shallow brain behind a serious mask,

For ever aiming at the world's esteem, An oracle within an empty cask,

Our self-importance ruins it's own scheme; The solemn fop; significant and budge;

In other eyes our talents rarely shown, A fool with judges, amongst fools a judge ;

Become at length so splendid in our own, He says but little, and that little said

We dare not risk them into public view, Owes all it's weight, like loaded dice, to lead. Lest they miscarry of what seems their due. His wit invites you by his looks to come,

True modesty is a discerning grace, But when you knock it never is at home :

And only blushes in the proper place; 'Tis like a parcel sent you by the stage,

But counterfeit is blind, and skulks through fear, Some handsome present, as your hopes presage ;

Where 't is a shame to be asham'd to appear : 'T is heavy, bulky, and bids fair to prove

Humility the parent of the first, An absent friend's fidelity and love;

The last by Vanity produc'd and nurs’d. But when unpack'd, your disappointment groans The circle form’d, we sit in silent state, To find it stuff'd with brick-bats, earth, and stones. Like figures drawn upon a dial-plate ; (show

Some men employ their health, an ugly trick, “ Yes,' ma'am,” and “ No, ma'am,” utter'd sofily, In making known how oft they have been sick, Ev'ry five minutes how the minutes go; And give us in recitals of disease

Each individual suff'ring a constraint A doctor's trouble, but without the fees ;

Poetry may, but colours cannot paint,
Relate how many weeks they kept their bed, As if in close committee on the sky,
How an emetic or cathartic sped;

Reports it hot or cold, or wet or dry ;
Nothing is slightly touch'd, much less forgot, And finds a changing clime a happy source
Nose, ears, and eyes, seem present on the spot. Of wise reflection, and well-tim'd discourse.
Now the distemper, spite of draught or pill, We next inquire, but softly and by stealth,
Victorious seem'd, and now the doctor's skill; Like conservators of the public health,
And now — alas, for unforeseen mishaps !

Of epidemic throats, if such there are,
They put on a damp nightcap and relapse;

And coughs, and rheums, and phthisic, and catarrh. They thought they must have died, they were so bad; That theme exhausted, a wide chasm ensues, Their peevish hearers almost wish they had. Fill'd up at last with interesting news,

Some fretful tempers wince at ev'ry touch, Who danc'd with whom, and who are like to wed, You always do too little, or too much :

And who is hang'd, and who is brought to bed : You speak with life, in hopes to entertain,

But fear to call a more important cause,
Your elevated voice goes through the brain ; As if 't were treason against English laws.
You fall at once into a lower key,

The visit paid, with ecstasy we come,
That's worse — the drone-pipe of an humble-bee. As from a sev’n years' transportation, home,
The southern sash admits too strong a light, And there resume an unembarrass'd brow,
You rise and drop the curtain — now 't is night. Recov’ring what we lost we know not how,
He shakes with cold - you stir the fire and strive The faculties, that seem'd reduc'd to nought,
To make a blaze - that's roasting him alive. Expression and the privilege of thought.
Serve him with venison, and he chooses fish;

The reeking, roaring hero of the chase,
With sole -- that's just the sort he would not wish. I give him over as a desp'rate case.
He takes what he at first profess'd to loath, Physicians write in hopes to work a cure,
And in due time feeds heartily on both;

Never, if honest ones, when death is sure ;
Yet still, o'erclouded with a constant frown, And though the fox he follows may be tam'd,
He does not swallow, but he gulps it down.

A mere fox-foll'wer never is reclaim'd. Your hope to please him vain

on ev'ry plan, Some farrice should prescribe his proper course, Himself should work that wonder, if he can Whose only fit coinpanion is his horse ; Alas! his efforts double his distress,

Or if, deserving of a better doom, He likes yours little, and his own still less.

The noble beast judge otherwise, his groom. Thus always teasing others, always teas'd,

Yet ev'n the rogue that serves him, though he stand, His only pleasure is— to be displeas'd.

To take his honour's orders, cap in hand, I pity bashful men, who feel the pain

Prefers his fellow-grooms with much good sense, Of fancied scorn and undeserv'd disdain,

Their skill a truth, his master's a pretence.
And bear the marks upon a blushing face

If neither horse nor groom affect the squire,
Of needless shame, and self-impos'd disgrace. Where can at last his jockeyship retire?
Our sensibilities are so acute,

O to the club, the scene of savage joys,
The fear of being silent makes us mute.

The school of coarse good fellowship and noise; We sometimes think we could a speech produce There, in the sweet society of those, Much to the purpose, if our tongues were loose; Whose friendship from his boyish years he chose, But being tried, it dies upon the lip,

Let him improve his talent if he can, Faint as a chicken's note that has the pip :

Till none but beasts acknowledge him a man. Our wasted oil unprofitably burns,

Man's heart had been impenetrably seal'd, Like hidden lamps in old sepulchral urns.

Like theirs that cleave the flood or graze the field, Few Frenchmen of this evil have complain'd; Had not his Maker's all-bestowing hand It seems as if we Britons were ordain'd,

Giv'n him a soul, and bade him understand ;

one

The reas'ning pow's vouchsaf'd of course inferr'd, Touch'd by that pow'r that you have dar'd to inock,
The pow'r to clothe that reason with his word; That makes seas stable, and dissolves the rock,
For all is perfect, that God works on Earth, Your heart shall yield a life-renewing stream,
And he, that gives conception, aids the birth. That fools, as you have done, shall call a dream.
If this be plain, 't is plainly understood,

It happen'd on a solemn even-tide,
What uses of his boon the giver would.

Soon after He that was our Surety died, 'The Mind, dispatch'd upon her busy toil,

Two bosom friends each pensively inclin'd, Should range where Providence has bless'd the soil; The scene of all those sorrows left behind, Visiting ev'ry flow'r with labour meet,

Sought their own village, busied as they went And gath'ring all her treasures sweet by sweet, In musings worthy of the great event: She should imbue the tongue with what she sips, They spake of him they lov'd, of him whose life, And shed the balmy blessing on the lips,

Though blameless, had incurr'd perpetual strife, That good diffus'd may more abundant grow,

Whose deeds had left, in spite of hostile arts,
And speech may praise the pow'r that bids it flow. A deep memorial graven on their hearts.
Will the sweet warbler of the livelong night, The recollection, like a vein of ore,
That fills the list’ning lover with delight,

The farther trac'd, enrich'd them still the more ; Forget his harmony, with rapture heard,

They thought him, and they justly thought him, To learn the twitt’ring of a meaner bird ? Or make the parrot's mimicry his choice,

Sent to do more than he appear'd t' have done; That odious libel on a human voice?

T'exalt a people, and to place them high No— Nature, unsophisticate by man,

Above all else, and wonder'd he should die. Starts not aside from her Creator's plan;

Ere yet they brought their journey to an end, The melody, that was at first design'd

A stranger join'd them, courteous as a friend, To cheer the rude forefathers of mankind,

And ask'd them with a kind engaging air Is note for note deliver'd in our ears,

What their affliction was, and begg'd a share. In the last scene of her six thousand years. Inform'd, he gather'd up the broken thread, Yet Fashion, leader of a chatt'ring train,

And, truth and wisdom gracing all he said, Whom man for his own hurt permits to reign, Explain’d, illustrated, and search'd so well Who shifts and changes all things but his shape, The tender theme, on which they chose to dwell, And would degrade her vot’ry to an ape,

That reaching home, “ The night,” they said, “is 'The fruitful parent of abuse and wrong,

near, Holds a usurp'd dominion o'er his tongue;

We must not now be parted, sojourn here." There sits and prompts him with his own disgrace, The new acquaintance soon became a guest, Prescribes the theme, the tone, and the grimace, And, made so welcome at their simple feast, And, when accomplish'd in her wayward school, He bless'd the bread, but vanish'd at the word, Calls gentleman whom she has made a fool. And left them both exclaiming, • 'T was the Lord! 'T is an unalterable fix'd decree,

Did not our hearts feel all he deign'd to say, That none could frame or ratify but she,

Did they not burn within us by the way ?" That Heav'n and Hell, and righteousness and sin, Now theirs was converse, such as it behoves Snares in his path, and foes that lurk within, Man to maintain, and such as God approves : God and his attributes, (a field of day

Their views indeed were indistinct and dim, Where 't is an angel's happiness to stray,)

But yet successful, being aim'd at him. Fruits of his love and wonders of his might,

Christ and his character their only scope, Be never nam'd in ears esteem'd polite.

Their object, and their subject, and their hope, That he who dares, when she forbids, be grave, They felt what it became them much to feel, Shall stand proscrib'd, a madman or a knave, And, wanting him to loose the sacred seal, A close designer not to be believ'd,

Found him as prompt, as their desire was true, Or, if excus'd that charge, at least deceiv'd. To spread the new-born glories in their view. Oh folly worthy of the nurse's lap,

Well — what are ages and the lapse of time Give it the breast, or stop it's mouth with pap! Match'd against truths, as lasting as sublime ? Is it incredible, or can it seem

Can length of years on God himself exact,
A dream to any, except those that dream,

Or make that fiction, which was once a fact ?
That man should love his Maker, and that fire, No — marble and recording brass decay,
Warming his heart, should at his lips transpire ? And like the graver's mem'ry pass away;
Know then, and modestly let fall your eyes, The works of man inherit, as is just,
And veil your daring crest that braves the skies; Their author's frailty, and return to dust :
That air of insolence affronts your God,

But truth divine for ever stands secure,
You need his pardon, and provoke his rod : It's head is guarded as it's base is sure ;
Now, in a posture that becomes you more

Fix'd in the rolling flood of endless years, Than that heroic strut assum'd before,

The pillar of th' eternal plan appears, Know, your arrears with ev'ry hour accrue

The raving storm and dashing wave defies, For mercy shown, while wrath is justly due. Built by that architect, who built the skies The time is short, and there are souls on Earth, Hearts may be found, that harbour at this hour Though future pain may serve for present mirth, That love of Christ, and all it's quick’ning pow'r; Acquainted with the woes, that fear or shame, And lips unstain'd by folly or by strife, By Fashion taught, forbade them once to name, Whose wisdom, drawn from the deep well of life, And, having felt the pangs you deem a jest, Tastes of it's healthful origin, and flows Have prov'd them truths too big to be express'd. A Jordan for th' ablution of our woes. Go seek on Revelation's hallow'd ground,

O days of Heav'n, and nights of equal praise, Sure to succeed, the remedy they found;

Serene and peaceful as those heav'nly days,

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