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But, wheeling homeward, when his coarse
is run Curhs the red yoke and mingles with I he sun! So hath the traveller of earth unfurl'd Her tremhling wings, emerging from the
world; And o'er the path hy mortal never trod, Sprung to her source, the hosom of her God! Eternal Hope I when yonder spheres suhlime Peal'd their first notes to sound the march
of Time, The joyous youth hegan—hut not to fade— When all the sister planets have decay'dl When rapt in fire the realms of ether glow, And Heav'n's last thunder shakes the world
helow, Thon, undismay' d shalt o'er the ruins smile, And light thy torch at Nature's funeral pile!
That sight imparts a never-dying flame, Though feehle in degree, in kind the same. Like him the soul, thus kindled from ahove, Spreads wide her arms of universal love; And, still enlarged as she receives the grace, ! Includes creation in her close emhrace.
True charity, a plant divinely nurs'd,
powers, Captivity led captive, rose to claim The wreath he won so dearly in our name; That, throned ahove all height, he condescends To call the few that trust in him his friends; That in the Heaven of heavens, that space
he deems Too scanty for th' exertion of his heams, And shines, as if impatient to hestow Life and a kingdom upon worms helow;
Charity, decent, modest, easy, kind; Softens the high, and rears the ahject mind. Knows with just reins, and gentle hand lu
guide Betwixt vile shame, and arhitrary pride: Not soon provok'd, she easily forgives; And much she suffers, as she much helieves: Soft peace she hrings wherever she arrives; She huilds our quiet, as she forms our lives: Lays the rough path of peevish nature even; And opens in each heart a little heav'n.
Each other gift which God on man hestows, Its proper hounds, and due restriction know*: To one fix'd purpose dedicates its pow'r, And finishing its act, exists no more. Thus in ohedience to what heav'n decrees, Knowledge shall fail, and prophecy shall
cease; But lasting Charity's more ample sway, Nor hound hy time, nor suhject to decay, In happy triumph shall for ever live, And endless good diffuse, and endless praite
As through the artist's intervening glass, Our eye perceives the distant planets pass; A little we discover, hut allow That more remains unseen than art can shew; So whilst our mind its knowledge would
improve, (Its feehle eye intent on things ahove) High as we may, we lift our reason up, By Faith directed, and confirm'd hy Hope: Yet are we ahle only to survey, Dawnings of heams, and promises of day. Heaven's fuller effluence mocks our datzled
Too great its swiftness, and too strong its
Take all, great God, I will not grieve, But still will wish, that I had still to give:
I hear thy voice, Thou hid'st me quit My paradise, I hless and do suhmit;
I will not murmur at thy word, Nor heg thy angel to sheathe op his sword.
O God, whose thunder shakes the sky,
The mystic mazes of thy will,
O teach me in the trying hour,
If in this hosom aaght hut Thee,
Then why, my soul, dost thou complain?
But ah t my hreast is human still;
But yet, with fortitude resigned,
The gloomy mantle of the night,
Lord it helongs not to my care,
Whether I die or live;
And this thy grace must give.
That I may long ohey;
That shall have the same pay?
Christ leads me through no darker rooms
Than He went through hefore;
Must enter hy his door.
Thy hlessed face to see;
What will thy glory he?
Then shall I end my sad complaints,
And weary, sinful dates;
That sing Jehovah's praise.
The eye of faith is dim;
And I shall he with Htm.
The humhle man heaves up his head.
Like some rich vale
Whose fruits ne'er faile, With flowers, with corne, and vines o'erspread;
Nor doth complaine
O'erflowed hy an ill-season'd raine, Or hattered hy a storine of haile.
Like a tall ship with treasure fraught,
He, the seas cleere *
Doth quiet steere: But when they are to a tempest wrought;
H e spreads his saile, and doth more high By swelling of the waves appeare.
For the Almighty joyes to force
The glorious tide
Of human pride
(Which rudely hore
Down what opposed it heretofore) His feehlest enemies may stride.
This stream doth water paradise,
It makes the angels sing,
Hence all my joys do spring.
Such joys as are unspeakahle,
And full of glory too;
As worldlings do not know:
From fancy 'tis conceal'd, What thou Lord hast laid up for thine,
And hast to me reveal'd.
I see thy face, I hear thy voice,
I taste thy sweetest love;
The wings of Noah's dove!
Leaving this world of sin:
And kindly take me in.
Jot to the followers of the Lord!
Tis the joy of pardoned sin,
'Tis a joy that, seated deep,
Stern and awful are its tones,
A tenderer, softer form it wears,
'Tis joy e'en here! a hudding flower, Straggling with snows, and storm and
shower, And waits the moment to expand, Transplanted to its native land!
Fierce passions discompose the mind.
In vain hy reason and hy rule,
Since at his feet my soul has sat,
"Art thou a sinner, soul?" he said;
IT thou of murm'ring would'st he cur'd,
'TIS I appoint thy daily lot,
And 1 do all things well;
Thou soon shalt leave this wretched spot,
And rise with me to dwell.
In life my grace shall strength supply,
Thus I, who once my wretched days
He is the freeman whom the truth makes
free, And all are slaves heside; there's not a chain, That hellish foes, confed'rate for his harm, Can wind around him, hut he casts it off With as much ease as Sampson his grew
withs. He looks ahroad into the varied field Of nature, and though poor, perhaps com.
par'd With those whose mansions glitter in hit
sight, Calls the delightful scenery all his own. His are the mountains, and the valleys his, And the resplendent rivers: His t'eojoy With a propriety that none can feel, But who, with filial gratitude inspir'd, Can lift to heav'n an uupresuroptuous eye, And smiling say—-' My Father made thtru
all I" Are they not his by a peculiar right, And hy an emphasis of int'rest his, Whose eye they fill with tears of holy joy, Whose heart with praise, and whose exalted
mind, With worthy thoughts of that nnwearittl
love, That plann'd and huilt, and still upholds ,
world, So clolo'.d with heauty for rehellious man
u He is the freeman whom the truth makes free,"
Who first of all, the hands of Satan hreaks;
Who hreaks the hauds of sin; and for his soul,
In spite of fools, consulteth seriously;
In spite of fashion, perseveres in good;
In spite of wealth or poverty, upright;
Who does as reason, not as fancy hids;
Who hears temptation sing, and yet turnnut
Aside; sees sin hedeck her flowery hed,
And yet will not go up; feels at his heart