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who died but as yesterday, and fome fix hundred years ago, I confider that great day when we fhall all of us be cotemporaries, and make our appearance together *." SPECTATOR,

Great day! for which all other days were made;
For which earth rofe from chaos, man from earth.

Trent-day of dread, decifion, and defpair!
At thought of thee each fublunary wifh
Let go its eager grafp, and drops th: world;
And catches at each reed of hope in heaven.

DR. YOUNG

NIGHT

NIGHT THOUGHTS

AMONG THE

TOMB S.

BY THE LATE REV. MR. MOORE, or CORNWALL

However my focial hours are enliven'd with innocent pleafantry, let every evening in her fable habit, toll the bell to serious confideration. - HERVEY'S MEDITATIONS.

TRUCK with religlous awe and folemn dread,

STRUC

I view these gloomy manfions of the dead;

Around me tombs in mix't diforder rife,

And in mute language teach me to be wife.

Time was these afhes liv'd; a time muft be,

When others thus ftand and look at me *. may

* Well does yonder tomb-stone say As I am now, fo you must be ; Prepare in time to follow me.

Here,

Here, blended, lie the aged and the young,
The rich and poor, an undiftinguifh'd throng:
Death conquers all, and time's fubduing hand,
Nor tombs nor marble flatues can withstand *.

Mark yonder afhes, in confusion spread!
Compare earth's living tenants with her dead!

How friking the resemblance yet how just!
Once life and foul inform'd this mass of duft :
Around these bones, now broken and decay'd,
The fireams of life in various channels play'd:
Perhaps that fkull, fo horrible to view,
Was fome fair maid's, ye belles! as fair as you.
These hollow fockets two bright orbs contain'd
Where the loves fported, and in triumph reign'd:
Here glow'd the lips; there white as parian ftone,
The teeth difpos'd in beauteous order shone.
This is life's goal-no farther can we view;
Beyond it, all is wonderful and new t.
O fay, ye fpirits, in a future ftate!

Why do you hide the fecrets of your fate?

-all fhall diffolve,

And like the bafelefs fabric of a vifion,

Leave not a wreck behind.

SHAKESPEAR

All, all on earth is fhadow, all beyond

Is fubftance

YOUNG.

Nor

Nor tell your endlefs pains or joys to none,
Is it that men may live by faith alone? ‡

The grave has eloquence, its lectures teach,
In filence louder than divines can preach:
Hear what it fays-ye fons of folly! hear;
It speaks to you-lend an attentive ear*:
It bids you lay all vanity afide;

A humbling lecture this for human pride.

The clock ftrikes twelve-how folemn is the found!
Hark, how the ftrokes from hollow vaults rebound!
They bid us haften to be wife, and show
How rapid in their course our minutes flow t.
Now airy fhapes, and hideous spectres dance
Athwart imagination's vivid glance;

The felon now attacks the mifer's door,
And ruthless murder prints her fteps with gore:
Dull fancy now her dreary path pursues,
Midit groves of cyprefs, and unhaHow'd yews;
Poetic visions vanish from my brain,

And my pulfe throbs as feebly as my ftrain.

ROMANS i, 17.

*The grave being the houfe appointed for all living, a frequent view of, and reflections on it, may not be altogether improper for perfons of all ages.

+ We take no note of time but from its lofs,

To give it then a tongue is wife in man. YOUNG.

What

What means this fudden, ftrange, unufual fart This folemn fomething creeping to my heart? Why fear to read a gracious God's decree? Why fear to look on that I foon must be * ? Can man be thoughtless of his end? or proud Of charms that claim the coffin and the fhroud? Come, let him read thefe fculptur'd tomb-ftones o'er Here fix his thoughts, and then be vain no more. Let proud ambition learn this leffon hence, Howe'er diftinguish'd, dignify'd for sense; Whate'er the honour'd enfigns of renown, The сар, the hood, the mitre, or the crown, Death levels all; nor parts nor pow'rs can fave; Milton himself must moulder in the grave, Who fung and prov'd with infpiration ftrong, The foul immortal, in immortal fong.

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Hark! thus death fpeaks; ingenious fons of men,
Why boaft the chiffel, pencil, or the pen ?
Will Fame, who oft denies her children bread,
Deceive the living, difcompofe the dead ?

*What am I, and what must I be ere-long, aud where? are queftions we fhould daily put to ourfelves, and ferioufty reflect on.

No

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