Were not thy power exerted in my breast; Those speeches would send up unheeded prayer: That scorn of life would be but wild despair; A cymbal's sound were better than my voice; My faith were form; my eloquence were noise. Charity, decent, modesty, easy, kind, Softens the high, and rears the abject mind; Knows with just reins, and gentle hand to guide, Betwixt vile shame, and arbitrary pride. Not soon provok'd, she easily forgives; And much she suffers, as she much believes. Soft peace she brings where ever she arrives ; She builds our quiet, as she forms our lives; Lays the rough part of peevish nature even; And opens in each heart a little heaven.
Each other gift, which God on man bestows, Its proper bounds, and due restriction knows; To one fixt purpose dedicates its power; And finishing its act, exists no more. Thus, in obedience to what Heaven decrees, Knowledge shall fail, and Prophecy shall cease; But lasting Charity's more ample sway, Nor bound by time, nor subject to decay, In happy triumph shall for ever live;
And endless good diffuse, and endless praise receive. As through the artist's intervening glass, Our eye observes the distant planets pass;
A little we discover; but allow,
That more remains unseen, than Art can show : So whilst our mind its knowledge would improve, (Its feeble eye intent on things above,)
High as we may, we lift our reason up,
By Faith directed, and confirm'd by Hope; Yet are we able only to survey
Dawnings of beams, and promises of day;
Heaven's fuller effluence mocks our dazzled sight; Too great its swiftness, and too strong its light. But soon the mediate clouds shall be dispell'd ; The Sun shall soon be face to face beheld, In all his robes, with all his glory on,
Seated sublime on his meridian throne. Then constant Faith, and holy Hope shall die, One lost in certainty, and one in joy: Whilst thou more happy power, fair Charity, Triumphant sister, greatest of the three, Thy office, and thy nature still the same, Lasting thy lamp, and unconsum'd thy flame, Shalt still survive-
Shall stand before the host of heaven confest, For ever blessing, and forever blest.
AND BENEFIT OF AN IMPROVED
AND WELL DIRECTED IMAGINATION.
Oh! blest of Heaven, who not the languid songs Of Luxury, the siren! not the bribes Of sordid Wealth, nor all the gaudy spoils Of pageant Honour, can seduce to leave Those ever blooming sweets, which from the store Of nature, fair Imagination culls,
To charm the enliven'd soul! What though not all Of mortal offspring can attain the height Of envy'd life: though only few possess Patrician treasures, or Imperial state; Yet Nature's care, to all her children just, With richer treasures, and an ampler state, Endows at large whatever happy man Will deign to use them. His the city's pomp, The rural honours his. Whate'er adorns The princely dome, the column and the arch, The breathing marble and the sculptur'd gold. Beyond the proud possessor's narrow claim, His tuneful breast enjoys. For him, the spring Distils her dews, and from the silken gem Its lucid leaves unfold: for him, the hand Of Autumn tinges every fertile branch
With blooming gold, and blushes like the morn. Each passing hour sheds tribute from her wings And still new beauties meet his lonely walk, And loves unfelt attract him. Not a breeze Flies o'er the meadow; not a cloud imbibes The setting sun's effulgence; not a strain From all the tenants of the warbling shade Ascends; but whence his bosom can partake Fresh pleasure unreprov'd. Nor thence partakes Fresh pleasure only; for the attentive Mind, By this harmonious action on her powers, Becomes herself harmonious: wont so oft In outward things to meditate the charm Of sacred order, soon she seeks at home, To find a kindred order; to exert Within herself this elegance of love,
This fair inspir'd delight: her temper'd powers Refine at length, and every passion wears A chaster, milder, more attractive mien. But if to ampler prospects, if to gaze On nature's form, where, negligent of all These lesser graces, she assumes the port Of that Eternal Majesty that weigh'd The world's foundations, if to these the Mind Exalts her daring eye; then mightier far
Will be the change, and nobler. Would the forms. Of servile custom cramp her generous powers? Would sordid policies, the barbarous growth Of Ignorance and Rapine, bow her down To tame pursuits, to indolence and fear; Lo! she appears to Nature, to the winds And rolling waves, the sun's unwearied course, The elements and seasons: all declare For what the eternal Maker has ordain'd The powers of man: we feel within ourselves IIis energy divine: he tells the heart, He meant, he made us to behold and love What he beholds and loves, the general orb Of life and being; to be great like IIim, Benificent and active. Thus the men
Whom nature's works instruct, with God himself Hold converse; grow familiar, day by day, With his conceptions; act upon his plan; And form to his, the relish of their souls
REFLECTIONS ON THE MISERIES OF LIFE.
Ah little think the gay licentious proud, Whom pleasure, power, and affluence surround; 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 sink in the devouring flood,
Or more devouring flame. How many bleed, By shameful variance betwixt man and man. How many pine in want and dungeon glooms, 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 shrink into the sordid hut Of cheerless Poverty. How many shake With all the fiercer tortures of the mind, Unbounded passion, madness, guilt, remorse. How many, rack'd with honest passions, 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 nameless ills, That one incessant struggle renders 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 wish Benevolence dilate; The social tear would rise, the social sigh; And into clear perfection, gradual bliss, Refining still, the social Passions work.
Here paus'd the patriot. With religious awe Grief heard the voice of virtue. No complaint The solemn silence broke. Tears ceas'd to flow; Ceas'd for a moment; soon again to stream. For now, in arms before the palace rang'd, His brave companions of the war demand Their leader's presence; then her griefs renew'd, Too great for utt'rance, intercept her sighs, And freeze each accent on her fault'ring tongue. In speechless anguish on the hero's breast She sinks. On ev'ry side his children press, Hang on his knees, and kiss his honour'd hand. His soul no longer struggles to confine
Its strong compunction. Down the hero's cheek, Down flows the manly sorrow. Great in woe, Amid his children, who inclose him round, He stands indulging tenderness and love In graceful tears, when thus, with lifted eyes, Address'd to Heaven: "Thou ever living Pow'r, Look down propitious, sire of gods and men! And to this faithful woman, whose desert
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