Like him, the foul thus kindled from above,
Spreads wide her arms of univerfal love,
And still enlarg'd as the receives the grace,
Includes creation in her close embrace.
Behold a Chriftian-and without the fires
The founder of that name alone infpires,
Though all accomplishment, all knowledge meet,
To make the fhining prodigy complete,
Whoever boafts that name-behold a cheat.
Were love, in these the world's last doting years,
As frequent as the want of it appears,
The churches warm'd, they would no longer hold
Such frozen figures, ftiff as they are cold;
Relenting forms would lofe their pow'r or cease,
And ev❜n the dipt and springled, live in peace;
Each heart would quit its prifon in the breaft,
And flow in free communion with the reft.
The statefiman, fkill'd in projects dark and deep,
Might burn his ufelefs Machiavel, and fleep;
His budget often fill'd, yet always poor,
Might fwing at eafe behind his ftudy door,
No longer prey upon our annual rents,
Nor scare the nation with its big contents:
Difbanded legions freely might depart,
And flaying man would cease to be an art.
No learned difputants would take the field,
Sure not to conquer, and fure not to yield,
Both fides deceiv'd, if rightly understood,
Pelting each other for the public good.
Did charity prevail, the prefs would prove
A vehicle of virtue, truth and love,
And I might spare myself the pains to fhow
What few can learn, and all fuppofe they know.
Thus have I fought to grace a ferious lay
With many a wild indeed, but flow'ry spray,
In hopes to gain what else I must have loft,
Th' attention pleasure has fo much engrofs'd.
But if unhappily deceiv'd I dream,
And prove too weak for fo divine a theme,
Let Charity forgive me a mistake
That zeal, not vanity, has chanc'd to make,
And spare the poet for his fubject fake,
Nam neq; me tantum venientis fibilus auftri,
Nec percufla juvant fluctû tam litora, nec quæ
Saxofas inter decurrunt flumina valles.
HOUGH nature weigh our talents, and difpenfe
To ev'ry man his modicum of sense,
And Converfation in its better part,
May be efteem'd a gift and not an art,
Yet much depends, as in the tiller's toil,
On culture, and the fowing of the foil.
Words learn'd by rote, a parrot may rehearse,
But talking is not always to converse,
Not more distinct from harmony divine,
The conftant creaking of a country fign.
As alphabets in ivory employ,
Hour after hour, the yet unletter'd boy,
Sorting and puzzling with a deal of glee
Those feeds of fcience call'd his ABC;
So language in the mouths of the adult,
Witness its infignificant refult,
Too often proves an implement of play,
A toy to sport with, and pass time away.
Collect at evening what the day brought forth,
Compress the fum into its folid worth,
And if it weigh th' importance of a fly,
The scales are falfe, or Algebra a lie.
Sacred interpreter of human thought,
How few respect or use thee as they ought!
But all fhall give account of ev'ry wrong,
Who dare dishonour or defile the tongue,
Who prostitute it in the caufe of vice,
Or fell their glory at a market-price,
Who vote for hire, or point it with lampoon,
The dear-bought placeman, and the cheap buffoon.
There is a prurience in the fpeech of fome,
Wrath stays him, or elfe God would ftrike them dumb;
His wife forbearance has their end in view,
They fill their meafure and receive their due.
The heathen law-givers of ancient days,
Names almost worthy of a Christian's praife,
Would drive them forth from the refort of men,
And fhut up ev'ry fatyr in his den.
Oh come not ye, near innocence and truth,
Ye worms that eat into the bud of youth!
Infectious as impure, your blighting pow'r
Taints in its rudiments the promis'd flow't,
Its odour perish'd and its charming hue,
Thenceforth 'tis hateful for it fimells of you.
Not ev'n the vigorous and headlong rage
Of adolefcence or a firmer age,
Affords a plea allowable or just,
For making fpeech the pamperer of luft;
|