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And God's own eye, like beams of noon;
Strikes through the shade, and marks your game.

What will ye do when heav'n inquires

Into those scenes of secret fin?
And luft, with all its guilty fires,
Shall make your conscience rage within ?

How will you curse your wanton eyes,

Curse the lewd partners of your shame,
When death, with horrible surprise,
Shews you the pit of quenchless flame?

X. Flee, Ginners, flee th' unlawful bed,

Lest vengeance send you down to dwell In the dark regions of the dead,

To feed the fiercest fires of hell.

Against DRUNKENNES S. By the fame.

TS. it not strange that every creature
I Should know the measure of its thirst,
(They drink but to support their nature,
And give due moisture to their duft ;)

While man, vile man, whose nobler kind

Should scorn to act beneath the beast,
Drowns all the glories of his mind,
And kills his foul to please his taste!

O what a hateful, shameful sight,

Are drunkards reeling through the street :
Now they are fond, and now they fight,
And pour their shame on all they meet.

Is it so exquisite a pleasure

To troll down liquor through the throat, And swill, and know no bound nor measure, . 'Till sense and reason are forgot ?

U 3

V. Do

v. Do they deserve th' immortal name

Of men, who sink so far below ? Will God, the maker of their frame,

Endure to see them spoil it fo!


Can they e'er think of heaven and grace,

Or hope for glory when they die? Can such vile ghosts expect a place Among the shining souls on high?

VII. The meanest seat is too refin'd

To entertain a drunkard there. Ye linners of this loathsome kind,

Repent, or perilh in despair.


By the same.

N OW reigns the night in her sublimest noon;

V Nature lyes huth'd ; the stars their watches keep;

I wait thy influence, gentle sleep,

Come, shed thy choicest poppies down
On every sense, sweet slumbers seal my eyes,
Tir'd with the scenes of day, with painted vanities.

In vain I wish, in vain I try

To close my eyes, and learn to die ;
Sweet slumbers from my restless pillow fy:
Then be my thoughts lerene as day,

Be sprightly as the light,
Swift as the sun's far-shooting ray,

And take a vigorous flight :
Swift fly, my soul, transcend these dusky skies,

And trace the vital world that lies
Beyond those glimmering fires that gild and chear the -


[night, There Jesus reigns, adored name ! The second on the throne fupreme :

In whose mysterious form combine

Created glories and divine :
The joy and wonder of the realms above ;
At his command all their wing'd squadrons move,
Burn with his fire, and triumph in his love.

There fouls releas'd from earth's dark bondage live,
My Reynolds there, with Howe and Boyle are found ;
Not time nor nature could their genius bound,

And now they foar, and now they dive
In that unlimitable deep where thought itself is drown'd.

They aid the seraphs while they fing,

God is their unexhausted theme;
Light, life and joy for that iminortal spring
O'erflow the blessed millions with an endless stream.

Amazing state! divine abode!
Where spirits find their heaven while they are lost in God.

Hail, huly souls, no more confin'd

To limbs and bones that clog the mind,
Ye have escap'd the snares, and left the chains behind.

We wretched prisoners here below,

What do we fee, or learn, or know,
But scenes of various folly, guilt and woe?
Life's buzzing sounds and flatt’ring colours play

Round our fond sense, and waste the day,
Enchant the fancy, vex the labouring soul;

Each rising lun, each lightsome hour,
Beholds the busy Navery we endure ;
Nor is our freedom full, or contemplation pure,
When night and sacred silence overspread the pole.

Reynolds, thou late ascended mind,

Employ'd in various thought and tuneful song,
What happy moinent shall my foul unbind,

And bid me join th' harmonious throng?

Oh for a wing to rise to thee!
When shall my eyes those heavenly wonders fee?
When shall I taste those conforts with an ear refin'd ?

Roll on apace, ye spheres sublime,
Swift drive thy chariot round, illustrious moon,

Halte, Haste, all ye twinkling measurers of time,

Ye can't fulfil your course too soon. Kindle, my languid powers, celestial love, Point all my passions to the courts above, Then send the convoy down to guard my last remove.

VIII. Thrice happy world, where gilded toys No more disturb our thoughts, no more pollute our joys!

There light and shade fucceed no more by turns, There reigns th' eternal fun with an unclouded ray, There all is calm as night, yet all. immortal day,

And truth for ever shines, and love for ever burns.


By the same.

. I. W HEN by the flowing brooks we fat,

V The brooks of Babylon the proud; We thought on Zion's mournful state,

And wept her woes, and wail'd aloud.


Thoughtless of every chearful air

(For grief had all our harps unstrung)
Our harps, neglected in despair,
And Glent, on the willows hung.

Our foes, who made our land their spoil,

Our barbarous lords, with haughty tongues,
Bid us forget our groans a while,
And give a taste of Zion's songs.

How shall we sing in heathen lands

Our holy songs to ears profane ?
Lord, shall our lips at their commands
Pronounce thy dreadful Name in vain ?

Forbid it heaven! O vile abuse !
Zion in dust forbids it too:


Shall hymns inspir’d for sacred ule
Be súng to please a scoffing crew ?

O let my tongue grow dry, and cleave

Fast to my mouth in silence still;
Let soine avenging power bereave
My fingers of their tuneful skill;

If I thy sacred rites profane,

O Salem, or thy dust despise ;
If I indulge one chearful strain,
Till I shall see thy towers arise.

.. . VIII.
'Twas Edom bid the conqu’ring foe,

Down with thy tow'rs, and raze thy walls :
Requite her, Lord; but, Babel, know,
Thy guilt for fiercer vengeance calls.

As thou hast spar'd nor sex nor age,

Deaf to our infant's dying groans,
May some bless'd land, infpir'd with rage;

Dalh thy young babes, and tinge the stones.

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DAVID'S LAMENTATION over Saul and Jona

than, 2 Sam. i. 19, &c. By the fame.

T TNHAPPY day! distressing sight!

Ifrael, the land of heaven's delight,
How is thy strength, thy beauty fled !

On the high places of the fight
Behold thy princes fall’n, thy fons of victory dead.

Ne'er be it told in Gath, nor known
Among the streets of Askelon :
How will Philiftia's youth rejoice

And triumph in our shame,

And girls with weak unhallow'd voice Chant the dishonours of the Hebrew name !

III. Moun

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