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Bewilder'd once, must he bewail his lofs
For ever and for ever? No-the cross.

There, and there only (though the deist rave,
And atheist, if earth bear fo base a slave)

There, and there only, is the pow'r to fave.
There no delufive hope invites despair,
No mock'ry meets you, no deception there.
The spells and charms that blinded you
before,
All vanifh there, and fascinate no more.
I am no preacher, let this hint fuffice,
The cross once feen, is death to ev'ry vice:
Elfe he that hung there, fuffer'd all his pain,
Bled, groan'd, and agoniz'd, and died in vain,

TRUTH.

TRUT T H.

Penfentur trutina.

HOR.

MAN, on the dubious waves of error tofs'd,

His ship half founder'd and his compafs loft,

Sees far as human optics may command,
A fleeping fog, and fancies it dry land:
Spreads all his canvass, ev'ry finew plies,
Pants for't, aims at it, enters it, and dies.
Then farewell all felf-fatisfying fchemes,
His well-built fyftems, philofophic dreams,

Deceitful

Deceitful views of future blifs, farewell!

He reads his fentence at the flames of hell.

Hard lot of man! to toil for the reward
Of virtue, and yet lofe it-wherefore hard?
He that would win the race, must guide his horse
Obedient to the customs of the course,

Elfe, though unequall'd to the goal he flies,
A meaner than himself shall gain the prize.
Grace leads the right way, if you chufe the wrong,
Take it and perish, but reftrain your tongue;
Charge not, with light fufficient and left free,
Your wilful fuicide on God's decree.

Oh how unlike the complex works of man,
Heav'ns eafy, artlefs, unincumber'd plan!
No meretricious graces to beguile,
No cluft'ring ornaments to clog the pile,
From oftentation as from weakness free,
It ftands like the cærulean arch we fee,
Majestic in its own fimplicity.
Infcrib'd above the portal, from afar
Confpicuous as the brightnefs of a ftar,

Legible

Legible only by the light they give,

Stand the foul-quick'ning words-BELIEVE AND LIVE.
Too many, fhock'd at what should charm them most,
Despise the plain direction and are loft.

Heav'n on fuch terms! they cry with proud difdain,
Incredible, impoffible, and vain-

Rebel because 'tis easy to obey,

And fcorn, for its own fake, the gracious way.
These are the fober, in whofe cooler brains

Some thought of immortality remains;
The reft too busy or too gay, to wait
On the fad theme, their everlasting state,
Sport for a day and perish in a night,
The foam upon the waters not fo light.

Who judg'd the Pharifee? What odious cause
Expos'd him to the vengeance of the laws?
Had he feduc'd a virgin, wrong'd a friend,
Or stabb'd a man to ferve fome private end?
Was blafphemy his fin? Or did he stray
From the ftrict duties of the facred day?

Sit

Sit long and late at the carousing board?

(Such were the fins with which he charg'd his Lord)

No-the man's morals were exact, what then?

'Twas his ambition to be seen of men;

His virtues were his pride; and that one vice,
Made all his virtues gewgaws of no price;
He wore them as fine trappings for a show,
A praying, fynagogue frequenting beau.

The self-applauding bird, the peacock see—
Mark what a sumptuous Pharifee is he!
Meridian fun-beams tempt him to unfold
His radiant glories, azure, green, and gold:
He treads as if fome folemn mufic near,
His measur'd step were govern'd by his ear,
And feems to fay, ye meaner fowl, give place,
I am all fplendor, dignity, and grace.

Not fo the pheafant on his charms prefumes,
Though he too has a glory in his plumes.
He, christian like, retreats with modest mein,
To the close copfe or far fequefter'd green,
And fhines without defiring to be seen.

The

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