• The fearch fhall teach thee life to prize,
And make thee grateful, good, and wise.
Why do you roam to foreign climes,
To study nations, modes, and times;
A fcience often dearly bought,
And often what avails you nought?

• Go, man, and act a wiser part,

Study the fcience of your heart:
This home philofophy, you know,
• Was priz'd fame thousand years ago
Then why abroad a frequent guest!
• Why such a stranger to your breast !
Why turn fo many volumes o'er,
Till Dodsley can fupply no more!
Not all the volumes on thy shelf,
• Are worth that fingle volume, felf:
For who this facred book declines,
• Howe'er in other arts he shines ;
• Tho' fmit with Pindar's noble rage,
Or vers'd in Tully's manly page;
• Tho' deeply read in Plato's school;
With all his knowledge is a fool.

• Proclaim the truth-Say, what is man?
His body from the duft began ;

And when a few fhort years are o'er,

The crumbling fabrick is no more.

But whence the foul?-From Heav'n it came!

O, prize this intellectual flame!

• This nobler felf with rapture scan;

'Tis mind alone which makes the man.

Trust me, there's not a joy on earth,
But from the foul derives it's birth.
Afk the young rake, (he'll answer right)
• Who treats by day, and drinks by night,

* Know thyfelf;' a celebrated faying of Chilo, one of the Seven Wife Men of Greece.

• What

• What makes his entertainments shine, < What gives the relish to his wine;

He'll tell thee, (if he fcorns the beast) ← That social pleasures form the feast. < The charms of beauty too fhall cloy, • Unless the foul exalts the joy,

The mind muft animate the face, • Or cold and tasteless ev'ry grace.

< What! must the foul her pow'rs difpenfe, • To raise and fwell the joys of sense? Know, too, the joys of fenfe controul, And clog the motions of the foul: • Forbid her pinions to aspire, • Damp and impair her native fire ; • And fure as sense (that tyrant!) reigns, She holds the emprefs, Soul, in chains. Inglorious bondage to the mind, Heav'n-born, fublime, and unconfin'd! • She's independent, fair, and great, And justly claims a large eftate; She asks no borrow'd aids to fhine, • She boasts within a golden mine; But like the treasures of Peru,

Her wealth lies deep and far from view.

Say, fhall the man who knows her worth,

• Debase her dignity and birth;

• Or e'er repine at Heaven's decree,
• Who kindly gave her leave to be;
Call'd her from nothing into day,
• And built her tenement of clay.
• Hear and accept me for your guide,

Who liftens to my wifer voice,
Can't but applaud his Maker's choice;
Pleas'd with that first and fov'reign cause,
Pleas'd with unerring Wifdom's laws;

• Secure,

Secure, fince fov'reign Goodness reigns;
• Secure, fince fov'reign Pow'r obtains.
With curious eyes review thy frame;
• This science shall direct thy claim.
Doft thou indulge a double view,
A long, long life, and happy too?
Perhaps a farther boon you crave
To lie down easy in the grave.
Know, then, my dictates must prevail,
• Or furely each fond with shall fail.

Come, then, is Happiness thy aim-
Let mental joys be all thy game.
Repeat the fearch, and mend your pace,
The capture fhall reward the chace.
Let ev'ry minute, as it fprings,
• Convey fresh knowledge on it's wings;
Let ev'ry minute, as it flies,

• Record the good as well as wife.

• While fuch pursuits your thoughts engage
In a few years you'll live an age.
• Who measures life by rolling years!
Fools measure by revolving spheres.
Go thou, and fetch th' unerring rule
From Virtue's, and from Wifdom's fchool.
• Who well improves life's shortest day,
• Will scarce regret it's setting ray ;
• Contented with his fhare of light,
Nor fear nor with th' approach of night'
And when difeafe affaults the heart,
• When ficknefs triumphs over art,
• Reflection on a life well paft

• Shall prove a cordial to the laft ;

• This med'cine fhall the foul sustain, And foften or fufpend her pain;

• Shall break Death's fell tyrannick pow'r, And calm the troubled dying hour.'

Blefs'd

Blefs'd rules of cool prudential age!
I liften'd, and rever'd the fage.
When, lo a form, divinely bright,
Defcends, and burfts upon my fight;
A feraph of illuftrious birth!
(Religion was her name on earth :)
Supremely sweet her radiant face,
And blooming with celestial grace!
Three fhining cherubs form'd her train,

Wav'd their light wings, and reach'd the plain :
Faith, with fublime and piercing eye,
And pinions flutt'ring for the sky;
Here Hope, that smiling angel, ftands,
And golden anchors grace her hands;
There Charity, in robes of white,
Fairest and fav'rite maid of light!

The seraph spake- 'Tis Reason's part,
To govern, and to guard the heart;
To lull the wayward foul to rest,

• When hopes and fears distract the breast.
• Reason may calm this doubtful ftrife,
And steer thy bark thro' various life:
But when the ftorms of death are nigh,
And midnight darkness veils the sky,
Shall Reason then direct thy fail,

Disperse the clouds, or fink the gale?
Stranger, this skill alone is mine,

• Skill! that tranfcends his scanty line.
⚫ That hoary fage has counsell'd right;
Be wife, nor fcorn his friendly light.
• Revere thyself—thou'rt near ally'd
To angels on thy better fide.

• How various e'er their ranks or kinds,

Yes, when the frailer body dies,

The foul afferts her kindred skies.

• But minds, tho' sprung from heav'nly race,

• Muft first be tutor❜d for the place.

(The joys above are understood,

And relifh'd, only by the good.)

• Who fhall affume this guardian care?
Who fhall fecure their birthright there?
Souls are my charge-to me 'tis giv'n
To train them for their native heav'n.

Know, then-Who bow the early knee,
And give the willing heart to me;
Who wisely, when Temptation waits,
Elude her frauds, and fpurn her baits;
Who dare to own my injur'd cause,
Tho' fools deride my facred laws;
Or fcorn to deviate to the wrong,
Tho' Perfecution lifts her thong;
Tho' all the fons of hell confpire
• To raise the stake, and light the fire:
Know, that for fuch fuperior fouls,
There lies a blifs beyond the poles ;
Where spirits fhine with purer ray,
And brighten to meridian day;

• Where Love, where boundless Friendship rules,
(No friends that change, no love that cools!)
Where rifing floods of knowledge roll,
• And pour, and pour upon the foul!'

But where's the passage to the skies?'The road thro' Death's black valley lies.

Nay, do not fhudder at my tale;

• Tho' dark the shades, yet fafe the vale.
This path the best of men have trod,
And who'd decline the road to God?
Oh! 'tis a glorious boon to die!

• This favour can't be priz'd too high.'