II. Begin, my muse, the heav'nly song, III. Proclaim inimitable love: Jesus, the Lord of worlds above, IV. What black reproach defil'd his name, V. He that distributes crowns and thorns, VI. But see the wonders of his power, VII. Thus were the hosts of death subdu'd, Then be arose, and reigns above, And conquers sinners by his love. If I could pursue all the wondrous achievements of a dying and a rising Saviour in verse, as fast and as far as my thoughts sometimes attempt to trace them, I should lengthen this ode to many stanzas, and yet, at last, I should lose both my thoughts and my verse amongst the unknown wonders of his glory, and the ages of eternity. Who Who shall fulfil this boundless song? What vain pretender dares ? The theme surmounts an angel's tongue, V. COMPLAINT and HOPE under great PAIN. 1736. I. LORD, I am pain'd; but I resign II. Dark are thy ways of providence, While those that love thee groan Yet Nature may have leave to speak, Lest the o'erburden'd heart should break Beneath thy heavy rod. IV. Will nothing but such daily pain Secure my soul from hell? V. How shall my tongue proclaim thy grace While thus at home confin'd? What can I write, while painful flesh Hangs beavy on the mind? * Note, In this ode, there are three or four lines taken from Mr Stennet's Sacramental Hymns; for when I found they exprest my thought and design, in proper and beautiful language, I chose rather to borrow and ac knowledge the debt, than to labour hard for worse lines, that I might have the poor pleasure of calling them my own. VI. These groans, and sighs, and flowing tears, VII. Is not some smiling hour at hand With peace upon its wings? VI. On an ELEGY, written by the Right Hon. the Countess of HERTFORD, on the Death of Mrs Rowe. 1737. STRUCK with the sight of Philomela's urn VII. Dr YOUNG's admirable Description of the Peacock enlarged. VIEW next the peacock: what bright glories run From plume to plume, and vary in the sum? Proudly he boasts, then to the heav'nly ray Thy hand his crest with starry radiance crown'd, VIII. VANITY inscribed on all Things. TIME, like a long flowing stream, makes haste into eternity, and is for ever lost and swallowed up there; and while it is hastening to its period, it sweeps away all things with it which are not immortal. There is a limit appointed by providence to the duration of all the pleasant and desirable scenes of life, to all the works of the hands of men, with all the glories and excellences of animal nature, and all that is made of flesh and blood. Let us not dote upon any thing here below, for heaven hath inscribed vanity upon it. The moment is hastening when the decree of heaven shall be uttered, and providence shall pronounce upon every glory of the earth, "Its time shall be no longer." What is that stately building, that princely palace, which now entertains and amuses our sight with ranks of marble columns, and wide spreading arches, that gay edifice which enriches our imagination with a thousand royal ornaments, and a profusion of costly and glittering furniture? Time, and all its circling hours, with a swift wing are brushing it away; decay steals upon it insensibly, and a few years hence it shall lie in mouldering ruin and desolation. happy possessor, if he has no better inheritance! Un What are those fine and elegant gardens, those delightful walks, those gentle ascents and soft declining hopes, which raise and sink the eye by turns to a thousand vegetable pleasures? How lovely are those sweet borders, and those growing varieties of bloom and fruit, which recal lost paradise to mind? Those living parterres which regale the sense with vital fragrancy, and make glad the sight by their refreshing verdure and intermingled flowery beauties? The scythe of time is passing over them all: they wither, they die away, they drop and vanish into dust; their duration is short; a few months deface all their yearly glories, and within a few years, perhaps all these rising terras-walks, these gentle verging declivities, shall lose all order and elegance, and become a rugged heap of ruins: those well distinguished borders and parterres shall be levelled in confusion, and thrown into common earth again, for the óx and the ass to graze upon them. Unhappy man who possesses this agreeable spot of ground, if he has no paradise more durable than this! And no wonder that these labours of the hands of men should perish, when even the works of God are perishable. What are these visible heavens, these lower skies, and this globe of the earth? They are indeed the glorious workmanship of the Almighty. But they are waxing old, and waiting their period too, when the angel shall pronounce upon them that Time shall be no more. The heavens shall be folded up as a vesture, the elements of the lower world shall melt with fervent heat, and the earth, and all the works thereof, shall be burnt up with fire. May the unruinable world be but my portion, and the heaven of heavens my inheritance, which is built for an eternal mansion for the sons of God: these buildings shall outlive time and nature, and exist through unknown ages of felicity! What have we mortals to be proud of in our present state, when every human glory is so fugitive and fading? Let the brightest and the best of us say to ourselves that we are but dust and vanity. Is my body formed upon a graceful model? Are my limbs well turned, and my complexion better coloured than my neighbours? Beauty, even in perfection, is of the shortest date; a few years will inform me that its bloom vanishes, its flower withers, its lustre grows.dim, its duration shall be no longer; and, if life be prolonged, yet the pride and glory of it is for ever lost in age and wrinkles: or perhaps our vanity meets a speedier fate. Death and the grave, with a sovereign and irresistible command, summon the brightest as well as the coarsest pieces of human nature, to lie down early in their cold embraces; and at last they must all mix together, among worms and corruption. Esop the deformed, and Helena the fair, are lost and undistin guished |