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Just as the sun withdrew his cooler light,
And ev'ning soft led on the shades of night,
He stole in covert twilight to his fate,
And pass'd the corner near the harlot's gate;
When lo, a woman comes!
Loose her attire, and such her glaring dress,
As aptly did the harlot's mind express;
Subtle she is, and practis'd in the arts,
By which the wanton conquer heedless hearts:
Stubborn and loud she is; she hates her home,
Varying her place and form, she loves to roam ;
Now she's within, now in the street does stray,
Now at each corner stands, and waits her prey.
The youth she seiz'd; and laying now aside
All modesty, the female's justest pride,
She said, with an embrace, Here at my house
Peace-offerings are, this day I paid my vows.
I therefore came abroad to meet my dear,
And, lo! in happy hour, I find thee here.
My chamber I've adorn'd, and o'er my bed
Are cov'rings of the richest tap'stry spread;
With linen it is deck'd, from Egypt brought,
And carvings by the curious artist wrought:
lt wants no glad perfume Arabia yields,
In all her citron groves, and spicy fields;
Here all her store of richest odours meets,
I'll lay thee in a wilderness of sweets;–
Whatever to the sense can grateful be,
I have collected there. I want but Thee.
My husband's gone a journey far away,
Much gold he took abroad, and long will stay;
He nam'd for his return a distant day.
Upon her tongue did such smooth mischief dwell,
And from her lips such welcome flatt'ry fell,
Th’ unguarded youth, in silken fetters ty'd,
Resign'd his reason, and with ease comply'd.
Thus does the ox to his own slaughter go,
And thus is senseless of th’ impending blow.
Thus flies the simple bird into the snare,
That skilful fowlers for his life prepare.
But let my sons attend. Attend may they,
Whom youthful vigour may to sin betray:
Let them false charmers fly, and guard their
Against the wily wanton's pleasing arts;
With care direct their steps, nor turn astray,
To tread the paths of her deceitful way;
Lest they, too late, of her fell power complain,
And fall where many mightier have been slain.
ECCLESIASTES, CHAP. XII. i
WHAT though the almond-tree be silver'd o'er,
And trembling stand the keepers of the door;
The strong men bow themselves; the grinders . . .
And fears alarm, when all abroad is peace:
Though yon bright sun no longer can delight;
Unfelt its influence, as debarr'd its sight;
Though the light grasshopper a burden grows,
And the small wren can rob thee of repose;
Desire all fled; music nojoy afford;
Just broke the golden bowl; just loos'd the silver cord;
Yet patience, resignation, still are thine;
Through the dark eye-ball heav'n-born faith may shine,
A lamp to lighten others on their way,
And cheer them onward to the realms of day;
Too late the rules of living to supply,
The hoary head should teach us how to die.
ISAIAH, CHAP. XL. VERSE vii. AND viii.Rev. S. Wesley.
THE morning flowers display their sweets,
, And gay their silken leaves unfold;
As careless of the noon-day heats,
And fearless of the evening cold.
Nipp'd by the wind's unkindly blast,
Parch'd by the sun's directer ray,
The momentary glories waste,
The short-liv'd beauties fade away.
So blooms the human face divine,
When youth its pride of beauty shows;
Fairer than spring the colours shine,
And sweeter than the virgin rose.
Or worn by slowly rolling years,
Or broke by sickness in a day,
The fading glory disappears,
The short-liv'd beauties die away.
But these, new rising from the tomb,
With lustre brighter far shall shine,
Revive with ever-during bloom,
Safe from diseases and decline.
Let sickness blast, and death devour,
If Heaven will recompense our pains;
Perish the grass, and fade the flow'r,
If firm the word of GoD remains !
THE BENEDICITE PARAPHRASED.— Merrick.
Ye works of GoD, on Him alone,
In earth His footstool, heaven His throne,.
Be all your praise bestow'd
Whose hand the beauteous fabric made,
Whose eye the finish'd work survey'd,
And saw that all was good.
Ye angels that, with loud acclaim,
Admiring view'd the new-born frame,
And hail'd th' eternal King;
Again proclaim your Maker's praise,
Again your thankful voices raise,
And touch the tuneful string.
Praise Him, ye bless'd etherial plains,
Where, in full Majesty, he deigns
To fix his awful throne;
Ye waters, that around Him roll,
From orb to orb, from pole to pole,
Oh! make His praises known
Ye thrones, dominions, virtues, pow'rs,
Join ye your joyful songs with ours,
With us your voices raise;
From age to age extend the lay,
To heav'n's eternal Monarch pay
Hymns of eternal praise.
Celestial orb l—whose pow'rful ray
Opes the glad eyelids of the day,
Whose influence all things own;
Praise Him, whose courts effulgent shine
With light, as far excelling thine,
As thine the paler moon.
Ye glitt'ring planets of the sky,
Whose lamps the absent sun supply,
With him the song pursue;
And let himself submissive own,
He borrows from a brighter Sun
The light he lends to you.
Ye show’rs and dews, whose moisture shed
Calls into life the op'ning seed,
To Him your praises yield;
Whose influence wakes the genial birth,
Drops fatness on the pregnant earth,
And crowns the laughing field.