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No sarther seek his merits to disclose,

Or Jraw liis srailties srom their dread abode, (There they alike in trembling hope repose,)

The bosom os his Father and his God.

REFLEXIONS

ON THH MISERIES OF HUMAN LIFE.

FROM THOM SON'S SEASONS.

Ah, little think the gay licentious proud,
Whom, pleasure, power, and affluence surround;

They, who their thoughtless hours in giddy mirth,.

And wanton, osten cruel,.riot waste;

Ah, little think they, while they dance along,

How many seel, this very moment, death

And all the sad variety os pain.

How many sink in the devouring slood,

Or more devouring flame. How many bleed,

By shameful variance betwixt man and man.

How many pine in want, and dungeon gloom.

Shut srom the common air, and common use

Os their own limbs. How many drink the cup

Os balesul.gries, or eat the bitter bread

Os misery. Sore pierc'd by wintry winds,

H-buc many shrink into. the. sordid, hut

'Os cheerless poverty. How many shake
With all the siercer tortures os the mind,
Unbounded passion, madness, guilt, remorse-;
Whence tumbled headlong srom the height os lise,
They surnish matter sor the tragic muse.
Even in the vale, where wisdom loves todweli,
With sriendship, peace and contemplation jom'd,
How many, rack'd with honest passions, droop _
In deep retir'd distress. How many stand
Around the death-bed os their flearest sriends,
And point the parting anguish. Thought, sond man
Os these, and all the thousand nameless ills,
That one incessant struggle render lise,
"One scene os toil, os suffering and os sale,
.Vice in his high career would stand appall'd,
And heedless rambling impulse learn to think;
The conscious heart os charity would warm,
And her wide wish benevolence dilate;
The social tear would rise, the social ngh;
And into clear persection, gradual bliss
Resining still, the social passions work.

THE

BEGGAR'S PETITION;

Pity the sorrows os a poor old man!

Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your door, Whofedays are dwindled to the shortest span,

Oh!. give relies—and Heaven will bless your store.

These tatter'd cloaths my poverty bespeak,
.These hoary locks proclaim my lengthen'd year?;

And many a surrow in my gries-worn cheek,
Has been the channel to a stream os tears.

"Yon house, erected on the rising ground,

With tempting aspect drew me srom my road,

For plenty there a residence has sound,
And grandeur a magnisicent abode.

(Hard is the sate os the insirm and poor!)

Here craving sor a morsel os their bread, A pamper'd menial sorc'd me srom the doorS

To seek a shelter in an humbler shed.

Oh! take me to your hospitable domte,

Keen blows the wind, and piercing is the cold!

Short is my passage to the sriendly tomb,
For I am poor^and miserably old,

Should I reveal the source os every gries,

Is sost humanity e'er touch'd your breast,
Your hands would not with-ho!d the kind relies,

And tears os pity could not be represt.

Heaven sends missortunes—why shovild we rejiine-?

'Tis Heaven has brought me to the state you see: And your condition may be soon like mine,

—The child os sorrow—and os misery.

A little sarm was my paternal lot,

Then like the lark I sprightly hail'd the mornj But ah! oppression sorc'd me srom my cot,

My cattle dy'd, and blighted was my corn.

My daughter—once the comsort os my age!

Lur'd by a villain srom her native home, -Is cast abandon'd on the world's wide stage,

And doom'd in scanty poverty to roam.

My tender wise—sweet soother os my care! . 7 Struck with sad anguish at the stern decree,

Fell—ling'ring sell a victim to despair,

And lest the World to wretchedness and me.

Pity the sorrows os a poor old man!

Whose trembling limbs have borne himtoyourdooi Whose days are dwindled to the shortest span,

Oh! give relies—and Heaven will bless y,*iv stor' O

HYMN TO BENEVOLENCE.

BY BLACKLOCK.

Hail! source os transport ever new;
While I thy strong impulse pursue,

I taste a joy sincere;
Too vast For little minds to know,
Who on themselves alone bestow

Their wishes and their care.

Daughter os God! delight os man!
From thee selicity began;

Which still thy hand sustains:
By thee sweet Peace her empire spread,
Fair Science rais'd her laurell'd head,

And Discord gnash-'d in chains.

Far as the pointed sunbeam flics
Through peopled earth and starry flues,

All nature owns thy nod;
We see its energy prevail
Through being's ever-rising scale,

From nothing e'en to God.

By thee inspir'd, the gen'rons breast,
In blessing others only blest;

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