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In infinite progression.-But I lose
Myself in Him, in light ineffable!
Come then, expressive silence, muse his praise.
§19. Hymn to Humanity. Langhorne.

1.

PARENT of virtue, if thine ear

Attend not now to sorrow's cry;

If now the pity-streaming tear

Should haply on thy cheek be dry;

Indulge my votive strain, O sweet humanity!

2.

Come, ever welcome to my breast!

A tender, but a cheerful guest.
Nor always in the gloomy cell
Of life-consuming sorrow dwell;
For sorrow, long indulg'd and slow,
Is to Humanity a foe;

And grief, that makes the heart its prey,
Wears Sensibility away;

Then comes, sweet nymph, instead of thee,
The gloomy fiend, Stupidity.

3.

O may that fiend be banished far,
Though passions hold eternal war!
Nor ever let me cease to know
The pulse that throbs at joy or woe.
Nor let my vacant cheek be dry,
When sorrow fills a brother's eye;
Nor may the tear that frequent flows
From private or from social woes,
E'er make this pleasing sense depart:
Ye Cares, O harden not my heart!
4.

If the fair star of fortune smile,
Let not its flattering power beguile;
Nor, borne along the fav'ring tide,
My full sails swell with bloating pride.
Let me from wealth but hope content,
Remembering still it was but lent;
To modest merit spread my store,
Unbar my hospitable door;
Nor feed, for pomp, an idle train,
While want unpitied pines in vain.

5.

If Heaven, in every purpose wise,
The envied lot of wealth denies;
If doom'd to drag life's painful load
Through poverty's uneven road,
And, for the due bread of the day,
Destin'd to toil as well as pray;
To thee, Humanity, still true,
I'll wish the good I cannot do;
And give the wretch, that passes by,
A soothing word—a tear-a sigh.
6.
Howe'er exalted, or deprest,
Be ever mine the feeling breast.
From me remove the stagnant mind
Of languid indolence, reclined;
The soul that one long sabbath keeps,
And through the sun's whole circle sleeps ;
Dull Peace, that dwells in Folly's eye,
And self-attending Vanity.

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To William Langhorne, M.A. 1760. LIGHT heard his voice, and, eager to obey, From all her orient fountains burst away.

At Nature's birth, O! had the Power Divine Commanded thus the moral sun to shine, Beain'd on the mind all reason's influence bright, And the full day of intellectual light, Then the free soul on Truth's strong pinion borne, Had never languish'd in this shade forlorn.

Yet thus imperfect form'd, thus blind and vain, Doom'd by long toil a glimpse of truth to gain; Beyond its sphere shall human wisdom go, And boldly censure what it cannot know? "Tis ours to cherish what Heav'n deign'd to give, And thankful for the gift of being live.

Progressive powers, and faculties that rise From earth's low vale, to grasp the golden skies, Though distant far from perfect, good, or fair, Claim the due thought, and ask the grateful

care.

Come, then, thou partner of my life and name, From one dear source, whom Nature form'd the

same,

Ally'd more nearly in each nobler part,
And more the friend, than brother of my heart!
Let us, unlike the lucid twins that rise
At different times, and shine in distant skies,
With mutual eye this mental world survey,
Mark the slow rise of intellectual day,
View reason's source, if man the source may find,
And trace each science that exalts the mind.

"Thou self-appointed lord of all below!
Ambitious man, how little dost thou know?
For once let Fancy's towering thoughts subside,
Look on thy birth, and mortify thy pride!
A plaintive wretch, so blind, so helpless born,
The brute sagacious might behold with scorn.
How soon, when Nature gives him to the day,
In strength exulting, does he bound away;
By instinct led, the fostering teat he finds,
Sports in the ray, and shuns the searching winds.
No grief he knows, he feels no groundless fear,
Feeds without cries, and sleeps without a tear.
Did he but know to reason and compare,
See here the vassal, and the master there,
What strange reflections must the scene afford,
That shew'd the weakness of his puling lord!"
Thus sophistry unfolds her specious plan,
Form'd not to humble, but depreciate man.
Unjust the censure, if unjust to rate
His pow'rs and merits from his infant-state.
For, grant the children of the flow'ry vale
By instinct wiser, and of limbs more hale,
With equal eye their perfect state explore,
And all the vain comparison's no more.

Bat why should life, so short by Heav'n
ordain'd,

Be long to thoughtless infancy restrain'd—
To thoughtless infancy, or vainly sage,
Mourn through the languors of declining age?"
O blind to truth! to Nature's wisdom blind!
And all that she directs, or Heav'n design'd!
Behold her works in cities, plains, and groves,
Or life that vegetates, and life that moves!
In due proportion, as each being stays
In perfect life, it rises and decays

Is man long helpless? Through each tender
hour,

See love parental watch the blooming flow'r!
By op'ning charms, by beauties fresh display'd,
And sweets unfolding, see that love repaid!
Has age its pains? For luxury it
may-
The temp rate wear insensibly away,
While sage experience and reflection clear
Beam a gay sunshine on life's fading year.

But see from age, from infant weakness see,
That man was destin'd for society;
There from those ills a safe retreat behold,
Which young might vanquish, or afflict him old.
"That, in proportion as each being stays
In perfect life, it rises and decays,
Is Nature's law-to forms alone confin'd,
The laws of matter act not on the mind.
Too feebly, sure, its faculties must grow,
And Reason brings her borrow'd light too slow.'

O still censorious? art thou then possest
Of reason's power, and does she rule thy breast?
Say what the use-had Providence assign'd
To infant years maturity of mind?
That thy pert offspring, as their father wise,
Might scorn thy precepts, and thy pow'r de-
spise?

Or mourn, with ill-match'd faculties at strife,
O'er limbs unequal to the task of life?
To feel more sensibly the woes that wait
On every period, as on every state;
And slight, sad convicts of each painful truth,
The happier trifles of unthinking youth?

Conclude we then the progress of the mind
Ordain'd by wisdom infinitely kind:
No innate knowledge on the soul imprest,
No birthright instinct acting in the breast,
No natal light, no beam froin Heav'n display'd,
Dart through the darkness of the mental shade.
Perceptive powers we hold from Heav'n's decree,
Alike to knowledge as to virtue free;
In both a liberal agency we bear,
The moral here, the intellectual there;
And hence in both an equal joy is known,
The conscious pleasure of an act our own.

When first the trembling eye receives the day,
External forms on young perception play;
External forms affect the mind alone,
Their diffrent pow'rs and properties unknown.
See the pleas'd infant court the flaming brand,
Eager to grasp the glory in its hand!
The crystal wave as eager to pervade.
Stretch its fond arms to meet the smiling shade!
When Memory's call the mimic words obey,
And wing the thought that faiters on its way;
When wise experience her slow verdict draws,
The sure effect exploring in the Cause,
In Nature's rude, but not unfruitful wild,
Reflection springs, and Reason is her child.
On her fair stock the blooming scyon grows,
And brighter through revolving seasons blows.

All beauteous flower! immortal shalt thou
shine,

When dim with age yon golden orbs decline;
Thy orient bloom, unconscious of decay,
Shall spread, and flourish in eternal day.

O! with what art, my friend, what early care,
Should wisdom cultivate a plant so fair!
How should her eye the rip'ning mind revise,
And blast the buds of folly as they rise!
How should her hand with industry restrain
The thriving growth of passion's fruitful train,
Aspiring weeds, whose lofty arms would tow'r
With fatal shade o'er reason's tender flow'r!

From low pursuits the ductile mind to save,
Creeds that contract, and vices that enslave;
O'er life's rough seas its doubtful course to steer,
Unbroke by av'rice, bigotry, or fear!
For this fair Science spreads her light afar,
And fills the bright urn of her eastern star.
The liberal power in no sequester'd cells,
No moonshine-courts of dreaming schoolmen
dwells;

Distinguish'd far her lofty temple stands,
Where the tall mountain looks o'er distant lands,

All round her throne the graceful arts appear, That boast the empire of the eye or ear.

See favour'd first, and nearest to the throne, By the rapt mien of musing Silence known, Fled from herself, the Pow'r of Numbers plac'd Her wild thoughts watch'd by Harmony and Taste.

There (but at distance never meant to vie), The full-form'd image glancing on her eye, See lively Painting! on her various face, Quick-gliding forms a moment find a place; She looks, she acts the character she gives, And a new feature in each feature lives.

See Attic ease in Sculpture's graceful air, Half loose her robe, and half unbound her hair; To life, to life, she smiling seems to call, And down her fair hands negligently fall.

Last, but not meanest, of the glorious choir, See Music, list'ning to an angel's lyre.

Simplicity, their beauteous handmaid, drest By Nature, bears a field-flower on her breast.

O Arts divine! O magic Powers that move The springs of truth, enlarging truth and love! Lost in their charms each mean attachment ends, And Taste and Knowledge thus are Virtue's friends.

Thus nature deigns to sympathize with art,
And leads the moral beauty to the heart:
There, only there, that strong attraction lies,
Which makes the soul, and bids her graces rise,
Lives in those powers of harmony that bind
Congenial hearts, and stretch from mind to
mind:

Glow'd in that warmth, that social kindness gave,
Which once the rest is silence and the
O tears, that warm from wounded friendship

flow!

grave.

O thoughts, that wake to monuments of woe!
Reflection keen, that points the painful dart;
Mem'ry, that speeds its passage to the heart;
Sad monitors, your cruel power suspend,
And hide, for ever hide, the buried friend :
—In vain—confest I see my Craufurd stand,
And the pen falls-falls from my trembling hand;
E'en death's dim shadow seeks to hide, in vain,
That lib'ral aspect, and that sinile humane;
Een Death's dim shadow wears a languid light,
And his eye beams through everlasting night.

Till the last sigh of Genius shall expire,
His keen eye faded, and extinct his fire,
Till time, in league with Envy and with Death,
Blast the skill'd hand, and stop the tuneful breath,
My Craufurd still shall claim the mournful song,
So long remember'd, and bewail'd so long.

$21. The Universal Prayer.
Deo Opt. Max.

FATHER Of All! in ev'ry age,

In ev'ry clime, ador'd,

By Saint, by Savage, and by Sage,
Jehovah, Jove, or Lord!'

Thou great First Cause, least understood,
Who all my sense confin'd

Pope.

To know but this, that Thou art good,
And that myself am blind.

Yet gave me, in this dark estate,
And, binding nature fast in fate,
To see the good from ill;

Left free the human will.
What conscience dictates to be done,
Or warns me not to do,

This teach me more than hell to shun,
That more than heav'n pursue.
What blessings thy free bounty gives
Let me not cast away';

For God is paid when man receives,
T enjoy is to obey.

Yet not to earth's contracted span
Or think Thee Lord alone of man,
Thy goodness let me bound,

When thousand worlds are round.
Let not this weak, unknowing hand
Presume thy bolts to throw,
And deal damnation round the land
On each I judge thy foe.

If I am right, thy grace impart,
Still in the right to stay;
if I am wrong, oh teach my heart

To find that better way.

Save me alike from foolish pride,

Or impious discontent,
At aught thy wisdom has deny'd,
Or aught thy goodness lent.
Teach me to feel another's woe,
To hide the fault I see;
That mercy I to others show,
That mercy show to me.
Mean tho' I am, not wholly so,
Since quicken'd by thy breath;
O lead me wheresoe'er I go,

'Thro' this day's life, or death. This day, be bread and peace my

lot:

All else beneath the sun, Thou know'st if best bestow'd or not; And let thy will be done.

To Thee, whose temple is all space, Whose altar, earth, sea, skies! One chorus let all Being raise!

All Nature's incense rise!

§ 22. Messiah, a Sacred Eclogue. Pore. YE Nymphs of Solyma! begin the song; To heavenly themes sublimer strains belong. The mossy fountains and the sylvan shades, The dreams of Pindus and the Aonian maids, Delight no more.-O Thou my voice inspire, Who touch'd Isaiah's hallowed lips with fire!

Rapt into future times, the bard begun A Virgin shall conceive, a Virgin bear a Son! From Jesse's root behold a branch arise, Whose sacred flow'r with fragrance fills the skies; Th' ethereal Spirit o'er its leaves shall move; And on its top descends the mystic Dove.

Ye heav'ns! from high the dewy nectar pour,
And in soft silence shed the kindly show'r!
The sick and weak the healing plant shall aid,
From storms a shelter, and from heat a shade.
All crimes shall cease, and ancient fraud shall fail,
Returning Justice lift aloft her scale;
Peace o'er the world her olive wand extend,
And white rob'd Innocence from heav'n descend.
Swift fly the years, and rise th' expected morn!
Oh spring to light, auspicious Babe, be born!
See Nature hastes her earliest wreaths to bring,
With all the incense of the breathing spring:
See lofty Lebanon his head advance,
See nodding forests on the mountains dance ;
See spicy clouds from lowly Saron rise,
And Carmel's flow'ry top perfumes the skies!
Hark! a glad voice the lonely desert cheers;
Prepare the way! a God, a God appears!
A God, a God! the vocal hills reply;
The rocks proclaim th' approaching Deity.
Lo, earth receives him from the bending skies!
Sink down, ye mountains, and, ye valleys, rise!
With heads declin'd, ye cedars, homage pay;
Be smooth, ye rocks; ye rapid floods, give way!
The Saviour comes! by ancient bards foretold;
Hear him, ye deaf! and, all ye blind behold!
He from thick films shall purge the visual ray,
And on the sightless eye-ball pour the day:
'Tis he th' obstructed paths of sound shall clear,
And bid new music charm th' unfolding ear;
The dumb shall sing, the lame his crutch forego,
And leap exulting, like the bounding roe.
Nosigh, no murmur, the wide world shall hear:
From ev'ry face he wipes off ev'ry tear.
In adamantine chains shall death be bound,
And hell's grin tyrant feel th' eternal wound.
As the good shepherd tends his fleecy care,
Seeks freshest pasture, and the purest air,
Explores the lost, the wand'ring sheep directs,
By day o'ersees them, and by night protects;
The tender lambs he raises in his arms,
Feeds from his hand, and in his bosom warms;
Thus shall mankind his guardian care engage,
The promis'd Father of the future age.
No more shall nation against nation rise,
Nor ardent warriors meet with hateful eyes,
Nor fields with gleaming steel be cover'd o'er,
The brazen trumpets kindle rage no more;
But useless lances into scythes shall bend,
And the broad faulchion in a plough-share end.
Then palaces shall rise: the joyful son
Shall finish what his short-liv'd sire begun:
Their vines a shadow to their race shall yield,
And the same hand that sow'd, shall reap the field.
The swain in barren deserts, with surprise,
Sees lilies spring, and sudden verdure rise;
And starts, amidst the thirsty wilds to hear
New falls of water murmuring in his ear.
On rifted rocks, the dragon's late abodes,
The green reed trembles, and the bulrush nods,
Waste sandy valleys, once perplex'd with thorn,
The spiry fir and shapely box adorn :

To leafless shrubs the flow'ring palms succeed,
And od'rous myrtle to the noisome weed.

The lambs with wolves shall graze the verdant
And boys in flowr'y bands the tiger lead: [mead,
The steer and lion at one crib shall meet,
And harmless serpents lick the pilgrim's feet.
The smiling infant in his hand shall take
The crested basilisk and speckled snake,
Pleas'd the green lustre of their scales survey,
And with their forky tongue shall innocently
play.

Rise, crown'd with light, imperial Salem, rise!
Exalt thy tow'ry head, and lift thy eyes;
See a long race thy spacious courts adorn;
See future sous and daughters, yet unborn,
In crowding ranks on ev'ry side arise,
Demanding life, impatient for the skies!
See barb'rous nations at thy gates attend,
Walk in thy light, and in thy tenple bend;
See thy bright altars throng'd with prostrate
kings,

And heap'd with products of Sabean springs!
For thee Idume's spicy forests blow,
And seeds of gold in Ophir's mountains glow.
See heav'n its sparkling portals wide display,
And break upon thee in a flood of day.
No more the rising sun shall gild the morn,
Nor ev'ning Cynthia fill her silver horn,
But lost, dissolv'd in thy superior rays,
One tide of glory, one unclouded blaze, [shine
O'erflow thy courts: the Light himself shall
Reveal'd, and God's eternal day be thine!
The seas shall waste, the skies in smoke decay,
Rocks fall to dust, and mountains melt away;
But fix'd his word, his saving pow'r remains:
Thy realm for ever lasts, thy own Messiah
reigns!

§ 23. The Prize of Virtue. Pope.
WHAT nothing earthly gives or can destroy,
The soul's calm sunshine, and the heart-felt joy,
Is Virtue's prize: a better would you fix?
Then give Humility a coach-and-six,
Justice a conqueror's sword, or Truth a gown,
Or Public Spirit its great cure, a crown.
Weak, foolish Man! will Heav'n reward us there
With the same trash mad mortals wish for here?
The boy and man an individual makes,
Yet sigh'st thou now for apples and for cakes?
Go, like the Indian, in another life
Expect thy dog, thy bottle, and thy wife!
As well as dream such trifles are assign'd,
As toys and empires for a godlike mind;
Rewards, that either would to Virtue bring
No joy, or be destructive of the thing:
How oft by these at sixty are undone
The virtues of a saint at twenty-one!

To whom can riches give repute or trust,
Content or pleasure, but the good and just?
Judges and Senates have been bought for gold;
Esteem and love were never to be sold.
Oh fool; to think God hates the worthy mind,
The lover, and the love of human kind,
Whose life is healthful, and whose conscience
clear,

Because he wants a thousand pounds a-year.

§ 24. An Elegy, written in a Country Church- | Full many a flow'r is born to blush unseen. Yard. Gray.

THE Curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea,
The plowman homeward plods his weary way,
And leaves the world to darkness and to me.
Now fades the glimm'ring landscape on the sight,
And all the air a solemn stillness holds,
Save where the beetle wheels his drony flight,
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds;
Save that, from yonder ivy-mantled tow'r,

The moping owl does to the Moon complain
Of such, as wand'ring near her secret bow'r,
Molest her antient solitary reign.
Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade,
Where heaves the turf in many a mould'ring
Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, [heap,

The fude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.
The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, [shed,
The swallow twitt'ring from the straw-built
The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn,

No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed
For them no more the blazing hearth shall burp,
Or busy housewife ply her evening care,
Nor children run to lisp their sire's return,

Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.

Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield;

Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke; How jocund did they drive their teams afield! How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke:

Let not ambition mock their useful toil,

Their homely joys and destiny obscure;
Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile,
The short and simple annals of the poor.
The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r,
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave,
Await, alike, th' inevitable hour;

The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault,
If mem'ry o'er their tomb no trophies raise,
Where thro' the long-drawn aisle and fretted
vault,

The pealing anthem swells the note of praise.

Can storied urn, or animated bust,

Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath?
Can Honor's voice provoke the silent dust,
Or flatt'ry soothe the dull cold ear of death?
Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid

Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire;
Hands, that the rod of empire might have sway'd,
Or wak d to ecstasy the living lyre.

But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page,
Rich with the spoils of Time, did ne'er unroll;
Chill Penury repress'd their noble rage,

And froze the genial current of the soul.
Full many a gem of purest ray serene,

The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear;

And waste its sweetness on the desert air.
Some village-Hampden, thatwith dauntless breast
The little tyrant of his fields withstood;
Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest.
Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood.
Th' applause of list'ning senates to command,
The threats of pain and ruin to despise,
To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land,

And read their hist'ry in a nation's eyes,
Their lot forbade : nor circumscrib'd alone [fin'd;
Their growing virtues, but their crimes con-
Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne,
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind;
The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide,
To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame,
Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride
With incense kindled at the Muse's flame.
Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife,
Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray;
Along the cool sequester'd vale of life,
They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.
Yet ev'n these bones from insult to protect,
Some frail memorial still erected nigh,
With uncouth rhimes and shapeless sculpture
Implores the passing tribe of a sigh. [deck'd,
Their name, their years, spelt by th' unletter'd
The place of fame and elegy supply: [muse,
And many a holy text around she strews,

That teach the rustic moralist to die.
For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey,

This pleasing anxious being e'er resign'd,
Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day,
Nor cast one longing, ling'ring look behind?
On some fond breast the parting soul relies,

Some pious drops the closing eye requires;
Ev'n from the tomb, the voice of nature cries,
Ev'n in our ashes live their wonted fires.
For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonour'd dead,
Dost in these lines their artless tale relate;
If, chance, by lonely Contemplation led,

Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate.

Haply some hoary-headed swain may say,

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Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn,
Brushing with hasty steps the dews away,
To meet the sun upon the upland lawn:
There at the foot of yonder nodding beech,

That wreaths its old fantastic roots so high,
His listless length at noon-tide would he stretch,
And pore upon the brook that bubbles by.
Hard by yon wood, now smiling, as in scorn,
Mutt'ring his wayward fancies, he would rove;
Now drooping, woeful wan, like one forlorn,

Or craz'd with care, or cross'd in hopeless love. One morn I miss'd him on the custom'd hill,

Along the heath, and near his fav'rite tree: Another came; nor yet beside the rill,

Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he;

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