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No farther seek his merits to disclose,

Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, (There they alike in trembling hope repose,)

The bosom of his Father and his God.

REFLEXIONS

ON THE MISERIES OF HUMAN LIFE.

FROM THOMSONS SEASONS.

A., little think the gay licentious proud,
Whom pleasure, power, and affuence furround;
They, who their thoughtless hours in giddy mirth,
And wanton, often cruel, riot waste;
Ah, little think they, while they dance along,
How many feel, this very moment, death
And all the sad variety of pain.
How many fink in the devouring food,
Or more devouring flame. How many bleed,
By shameful variance betwixt man and man.
How many pine in want, and dungeon gloom,
Shut from the common air, and common use
of their own limbs. How many drink the cup
Of baleful.grief, or eat the bitter bread
Of misery. Sore pierc'd by wintry winds,
How many thrink into the fardid hut

"Of cheerless poverty. How many shake
With all the fiercer tortures of the mind,
Unbounded pafsion, madness, guilt, remorse;
Whence tumbled headlong from the height of life,
They furnith matter for the tragic mure.
Even in the vale, where wisdom loves to dwell,
With friendship, peace and contemplation join'd,
How many, rack'd with honest pafsions, droop,
In deep retir'd distress. How many stand
Around the death-bed of their dearest friends,
And point the parting anguish. Thought, fond man,
Of these, and all the thousand namelefs ills,
That one incessant struggle render life,
One scene of toil, of suffering and of fate,
Vice in his high career would stand appall’d,
And heedless rambling impulse learn to think;
The conscious heart of charity would warm,
And her wide with benevolence dilate;'
The social tear would rise, the social figh;
And into clear perfection, gradual bliss
Refining still, the social passions work.

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BEGGAR'S PETITION.

Pity the sorrows of a poor old man!

Whosetrembling limbs have borne him to your door; Whose days are dwindled to the shortest span,

Oh!.give relief---and Heaven will bless your store.

These tatter'd cloaths my poverty bespeak,

These hoary locks proclaim my lengthen'd years; . And many a furrow in my grief-worn cheek,

Has been the channel to a stream of tears.

Yon house, erected on the rising ground,

With tempting aspect drew me from my road, For plenty there a residence has found,

And grandeur a magnificent abode.

(Hard is the fate of the infirm and poor!)

Here craving for a morfel of their bread, A pamper'd menial forc'd me from the door,

To seek a shelter in an humbler shed.

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Oh! take me to your hospitable dome,

Keen blows the wind, and piercing is the cold! Short is my passage to the friendly tomb,

For I am poor and miserably old.

Should I reveal the fource of every grief,

- If soft humanity e'er touch'd your breast, Your hands would not with-hold the kind relief,

And tears of pity could not be represt.

Heaven sends misfortunes---why should we repine?

'Tis Heaven has brought me to the state you see: And your condition

may

be foon like mine, ---The child of sorrow---and of misery;

A little farm was my paternal lot,

Then like the lark 1 sprightly hail'd the morn; But ah! oppression forc’d me from my cot,

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

My daughter---once the comfort of my age !

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

And doom'd in scanty poverty to roam.

My tender wife---sweet foother of my curė! .

Struck with sad anguish at the stern decree, Fell---ling'ring fell a victim to despair,

And left the world to wretchedness and me.

Pity the sorrows of a poor old man!

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

Oh! give relief---and Heaven will bless yi nilito"

HYMN TO BENEVOLENCE.

BY BLACK LOCK.

HAIL! source 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 of God! delight of man!
From thee felicity began;

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

And Discord gnafh'd in chains.

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

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

From nothing e'en to God.

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

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