« AnteriorContinuar »
Bring with thee Charity, sweet dove-ey'd maid!
Oh! lead me oft where want and sickness lie,
Tho' poor, to misery I've a tear to pay.
Be it my pride within my humble sphere
To lend to drooping age the aiding hand! To wipe from Misery's eye the gushing tear, Nor e'er the still small voice of Grief withstand.
Oh, blest sensations! balm to feeling minds!
To comfort and to sooth the couch of Woe, The lux'ries which the good man ever finds,
Be they my lot, let them my heart o'erflow.
Thus by thy aid my days shall glide away,
Nor riches, fame, nor honours do I crave; Cheer'd by thy smile, I'll chaunt my pensive lay, And steal, contented, to my humble grave.
THE morning flowers display their sweets,
And fearless of the evening's cold.
Nipt by the wind's untimely blast,
The short-liv'd beauties die away.
So blooms the human face divine,
When youth its pride of beauty shows; Fairer than spring the colours shine,
And sweeter than the new-blown rose.
But worn by slowly rolling years,
Or broke by sickness in a day, The fading glory disappears,
The short-lived beauties die away.
Yet these, new rising from the tomb,
With lustre brighter far shall shine; (If goodness in the life did bloom,)
Safe from diseases and decline.
Let sickness blast, let death devour,
So heaven but recompense our pains; Perish the grass, and fade the flower, If firm the word of God remains.
LOVELY, lasting peace of mind,
Lovely lasting Peace appear! This world itself, if thou art here, Is once again with Eden bless'd, And man contains it in his breast. 'Twas thus, as under shade I stood, I sung my wishes to the wood, And, lost in thought, no more perceiv'd The branches whisper as they wav'd: It seem'd, as all the quiet place Confess'd the presence of the Grace; When thus she spoke-" Go, rule thy will, "Bid thy wild passions all be still, "Know GOD, and bring thy heart to know "The joys which from Religion flow: “ Then ev'ry grace shall prove its guest, "And I'll be there to crown the rest."
WHILE Night in solemn shade invests the pole,
If, by the day's illusive scenes misled,
If, by example snar'd, by passion warm'd,
But ah! how oft my lawless passions rove,
And violate the virtue I adore !
Oft, when Thy gracious SPIRIT's guardian care, Warn'd my fond soul to shun the tempting snare, My stubborn will His gentle aid represt,
And check'd the rising goodness in my breast, Mad with vain hopes, or urg'd by false desires, Still'd His soft voice, and quench'd His sacred fires.
With grief opprest, and prostrate in the dust,
All-pow'rful Grace, exert thy gentle sway,
Shall every high resolve Devotion frames,
ON THE DEATH OF A LADY.-Beattie.
STILL shall unthinking man substantial deem