Remark what I, God's messenger, aver

From him, who neither can deceive, nor err.
The land at length redeem'd, shall cease to mourn ;
Shall from her sad captivity return.

Sion shall raise her long-dejected head;

And in her courts the law again be read.
Again the glorious temple shall arise,

And with new lustre pierce the neighbouring skies.
The promis'd seat of empire shall again
Cover the mountain, and command the plain ;
And, from thy race distinguish'd, One shall spring,
Greater in act than victor, more than king

In dignity and power, sent down from Heaven, To succour earth. To Him, to Him, 'tis given, Passion, and care, and anguish to destroy. Through Him soft peace, and plenitude of joy Perpetual o'er the world redeem'd shall flow; No more may man inquire, nor angel know.

Now, Solomon, remembering who thou art, Act through thy remnant life the decent part. Go forth be strong: with patience, and with care Perform, and suffer: to thyself severe, Gracious to others, thy desires suppress'd, Diffus'd thy virtues, first of men! be best. Thy sum of duty let two words contain; (0 may they graven in thy heart remain !) Be humble, and be just. The angel said :With upward speed his agile wings he spread ; Whilst on the holy ground I prostrate lay, By various doubts impell'd, or to obey,

Or to object at length (my mournful look
Heavenward erect) determin'd, thus I spoke :
Supreme, all wise, eternal Potentate!
Sole author, sole disposer of our fate!
Enthron'd in light, and immortality!

Whom no man fully sees, and none can see!
Original of beings! power divine!

Since that I live, and that I think, is thine;
Benign Creator, let thy plastic hand
Dispose its own effect. Let thy command
Restore, great Father, thy instructed son;
And in my act may thy great will be done!

CONSIDERATIONS

ON PART OF THE EIGHTY-EIGHTH PSALM.

A COLLEGE EXERCISE, 1690.

HEAVY, O Lord, on me thy judgments lie,
Accurs'd I am, while God rejects my cry.
O'erwhelm'd in darkness and despair I groan;
And every place is hell; for God is gone.
O Lord! arise, and let thy beams control
Those horrid clouds, that press my frighted soul :
Save the poor wanderer from eternal night,
Thou that art the God of light.

Downward I hasten to my destin❜d place; There none obtain thy aid, or sing thy praise.

Soon I shall lie in death's deep ocean drown'd:
Is mercy there, or sweet forgiveness found?
O save me yet, whilst on the brink I stand;
Rebuke the storm, and waft my soul to land.
O let her rest beneath thy wing secure,
Thou that art the God of power.

Behold the prodigal! to thee I come,
To hail my father, and to seek my home.
Nor refuge could I find, nor friend abroad,
Straying in vice, and destitute of God.
O let thy terrors, and my anguish end!
Be thou my refuge, and be thou my friend:
Receive the son thou didst so long reprove,
Thou that art the God of love.

TO THE REV. DR. FRANCIS TURNER,1

BISHOP OF ELY, WHO HAD ADVISED A TRANSLATION OF PRUDENTIUS.

If poets, ere they cloth'd their infant thought, And the rude work to just perfection brought, Did still some god, or godlike man invoke, Whose mighty name their sacred silence broke:

1 Doctor Francis Turner was at that time master of St. John's College, Cambridge. He was one of the petitioning bishops who were committed to the Tower by James II.

Your goodness, Sir, will easily excuse
The bold requests of an aspiring muse;
Who, with your blessing would your aid implore,
And in her weakness justify your power.—
From your fair pattern she would strive to write,
And with unequal strength pursue your flight;
Yet hopes, she ne'er can err that follows you,
Led by your blest commands, and great example too.
Then smiling and aspiring influence give,
And make the muse and her endeavours live;
Claim all her future labours as your due,
Let every song begin and end with you:
So to the blest retreat she'll gladly go,
Where the saints' palm and muses' laurel grow;
Where kindly both in glad embrace shall join,
And round your brow their mingled honours twine;
Both to the virtue due, which could excel,

As much in writing, as in living well.—
So shall she proudly press the tuneful string,
And mighty things in mighty numbers sing;
Nor doubt to strike Prudentius' daring lyre,
And humbly bring the verse which you inspire.

and one of those who were afterwards deprived of his see for refusing the oaths to the new government. Bishop Burnet says, "He was a sincere and good-natured man, of too quick an imagination, and too defective a judgment. He was but moderately learned, having conversed more with men than with books." He died November 2, 1700.

A PASTORAL.

TO DR. TURNER, BISHOP OF ELY; ON HIS

DEPARTURE FROM CAMBRIDGE.

DAMON.

TELL, dear Alexis, tell thy Damon, why
Dost thou in mournful shades obscurely lie?
Why dost thou sigh, why strike thy panting breast?
And steal from life the needful hours of rest?
Are thy kids starv'd by winter's early frost?
Are any of thy bleating stragglers lost?
Have strangers' cattle trod thy new-plough'd
ground?

Has great Joanna, or her greater shepherd frown'd.

ALEXIS.

See my kids browse, my lambs securely play :
(Ah! were their master unconcern'd as they !)
No beasts (at noon I look'd) had trod my ground;
Nor has Joanna, or her shepherd, frown'd.

DAMON.

Then stop the lavish fountain of your eyes,
Nor let those sighs from your swoln bosom rise;
Chase sadness, friend, and solitude away;

And once again rejoice, and once again look gay.

ALEXIS.

Say what can more our tortur'd souls annoy,

Than to behold, admire, and lose our joy;