BETWEEN THE HOSPITAL AND NEW PLAY HOUSE AT BIRMINGHAM.
AT close of day within a rural bow'r,
I sat me down to muse away an hour;
But nightly silence, so profoundly deep,
Soon lull'd my body into gentle sleep :
And as I slept I dream'd I heard a noise;
Then look'd around, and (to my great surprise)
I saw the Hospital and Play House near,
Both in profound discourse, which
Hail! Play House, Hail! thee I congratulate!
Whilst I bemoan my own bewilder'd state :
Near sev'n long years were my foundations laid,
Ere thine were dug, or ought about thee said;
Yet I've been long abandon'd human thought,
Whilst thou in haste art to perfection brought,
Ah! true's that saying, pertinent and just,
The first are last, and hence the last are first.
Cease, Hospital! why should'st thou thus repine?
Though thou'rt neglected, 'tis no fault of mine:
Thy use is hospitality, I know,
Or thou'dst been finish'd many years ago.
My use, thou know'st, is different from thine;
In me the rich and opulent shall shine;
But halt, and lame, and blind must be thy guest,
And such who are by sickness sore opprest.
No good or profit can in me be found,
My entertainments with expense abound.
Puh! Epicureans value not expense,
When buying trifles to amuse their sense;
But though I loudly their assistance crave,
Yet I, alas! can no assistance have!
It must be wrong, I do in conscience own,
That such unkindness should to thee be shewn;
That thou by Christians thus should'st slighted be,
Whilst I'm caress'd aud crown'd with dignity.
Christians, Theatre? Is it not a shame,
That they should e'er be honour'd with the name? Could Christians in a Play House take such pride, Whilst I in dormancy so long abide?
Yes, Christians can; pray do not go too far,
I hope you do not think they heathens are?
Indeed they are no better in my view,
Or else they never could delight in you.
Fanatic fool! that is a grand mistake,
The best of Christians should their pleasures take.
And so they do; but thou hast none to give;
Their pleasure is the needy to relieve.
If that's the case, then Christians are but few.
Indeed, Theatre, that I think is true;
Sure I this gloomy aspect should not wear,
If all were Christians who the name do bear.
Well, be it so, I will no more pretend
To take their part, let this contention end.
Each pious mind, our gentry justly blaine ;
So I awoke, and lo, it was a dream.
WHY thus in haste, sweet boy, so soon to go,
And leave in tears, thy weeping friends below? Some heavenly voice, dear object of their love, Call'd hence thy soul, to dwell in realms above. Scarce hadst thou learnt the good from ill to know, Nor yet had drank the bitter cup of woe; When Heav'n ordain'd, no doubt for reasons wise, Thy early sun should set, no more to rise, Till call'd to meet thy Saviour in the skies. Sharp was the conflict which thou didst sustain; Tho' short the period, yet severe the pain ; Till Death, with pity mov'd, struck home the dart, And thus compos'd to rest thy throbbing heart. Say, little cherub, for we fain would know,
Where dwells that essence bright, which here below,
Gave animation to this earthly clod,
And mov'd thy tongue to lisp the praise of God?-
Soft were thy manners whilst thou sojourn'd here;
To lose thee thus, demands a friendly tear;
But Heav'n from far might see a rising storm,
And kindly has secur'd thy bark from harm.
Thy angel face, those mild engaging ways,
Which when beheld, did admiration raise;
That fond attachment, which such joy did give;
Long in the mem'ry of thy friends shall live.
Why, cruel Death, exert thy awful pow'r,
To crop this tender scarcely op'ning flow?
Why not direct thy shaft where age and pain
Implore deliv'rance, yet implore in vain ?-
Perhaps the world, with its defusive snares,
Might have defeated all their anxious cares,
Who foster'd thee, and with religious zeal,
Did to thy mind God's sacred truth reveal.
Let not us, wormis, arraign the ways of God,
But lowly bow, and humbly kiss the rod;
For some wise ends the high command was giv'n,
To snatch thy yet untainted soul to heav'n.-
While friends thy absence mourn with weeping,exe,
Thou, clad with glory, join'st the choirs on high,
In rap'trous songs to all-redeeming Love,
The task delightful of the saints above.
May ev'ry thoughtless soul who hears, awake,
And from thy death an awful warning take;
Nor idly waste that time by heav'n design'd
In virtuous knowledge to improve the mind.
To those who rashly count on lengthen'd days,
Thy sudden call a warning loud conveys;
Methinks it says " Vain fool, whoe'er thou be,
Prepare prepare! for soon thou'lt follow me."
Fain would the muse her feeble aid extend,
To comfort those who mourn a darling friend!
Would, if she could, a sovereign balm bestow,
To heal their grief, or mitigate their woe.
That sacred treasure in God's word is hid;
All grief excessive, in that word's forbid;
It does not break of nature's tie the thread,
A Saviour wept, when Lazarus was dead!!
Keep then, my friends, a Saviour's life in view,
And give to Nature, only what's her due.
WHAT though the sun withdraws his ray,
And clouds bedim the sky,
Yet soon shall winter pass away,
And spring salute the eye.
But ah! when wintry age draws on,
A dreary scene's in store !
Life's sun, that warm'd the heart, is gone,
And spring returns no more!
Then oh! before that sun goes down,
And sets in cheerless night,
Come, Wisdom, with thy starry crown,
And guide my steps aright.
And thou, Religion, heav'nly maid!
Thy choicest blessings bring;
Life then, though sunk in winter's shade,
Shall wear the bloom of spring...
DEATH OF AN AMIABLE WIFE.
MY wife, my friend, my guide, my all combin'd!
Lovely in person, lovelier still in mind—
Farewell! All these, Eliza, sure thou wert,
Else whence this wretched vacuum in my heart?
Yet I'll not grieve too much-Eliza dead,
Shall bring down blessings on her husband's head:
Kindling with hope like thine, blest saint; I'll rise,
And, strong in Christian faith, assert the skies.
Was thine a death indeed? By Boundless Love
All but translated to the realms above,
God reads the heart; he saw thou wast prepar'd,
Through faith in Christ, to reap thy great reward;
And, ere a pang for us could well commence,
In pity to thy feelings, snatch'd thee hence. -
Then I will teach our children too to join,
And bless, in life or death, the will divine.
Frail mortal that I am, I yet must feel,
The hand that dealt the blow alone can heal.
Sore struck, I bow submissive to my God,
Afflicted, yet resign'd, I kiss the rod,
(Oh! may the tears which now each other chace,
Not seem rebellious to the throne of Grace!)
And ardent pray that this severe decree,
May fit me for eternal bliss with thee!
COLUMNS and labour'd urns but vainly shew
An idle scene of decorated woe.
The sweet companion and the friend sincere, Need no mechanic help to force the tear: In heartfelt numbers, never meant to shine, "Twill flow eternal o'er a hearse like thine; "Twill flow whilst gentle goodness has one friend, Or kindred tempers have a tear to lend.
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