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As when a felon whom his country's laws
Have justly doom'd for fome atrocious cause,
Expects in darkness and heart-chilling fears,
The fhameful clofe of all his mifpent years;
If chance, on heavy pinions flowly borne,
A tempeft ufher in the dreaded morn,
Upon his dungeon walls the lightning play,
The thunder feems to fummon him away,
The warder at the door his key applies,
Shoots back the bolt, and all his courage dies:
If then, juft then, all thoughts of mercy loft,
When Hope, long ling'ring, at last yields the ghoft,
The found of pardon pierce his startled ear,
He drops at once his fetters and his fear,

A transport glows in all he looks and fpeaks,
And the first thankful tears bedew his cheeks.
Joy, far fuperior joy, that much outweighs
The comfort of a few poor added days,
Invades, poffeffes, and o'erwhelms the foul,

Of him whom hope has with a touch made whole :

VOL. I.

N

'Tis

'Tis heav'n, all heav'n descending on the wings
Of the glad legions of the King of Kings;
'Tis more-'tis God diffus'd through ev'ry part,
'Tis God himself triumphant in his heart.
Oh welcome now the fun's once hated light,
His noon-day beams were never half so bright,
Not kindred minds alone are call'd t' employ
Their hours, their days, in list'ning to his joy,
Unconscious nature, all that he furveys,

Rocks, groves, and streams, must join him in his praise.
These are thy glorious works, eternal truth,
The fcoff of wither'd age and beardless youth;
These move the cenfure and illib'ral grin,

Of fools that hate thee and delight in fin :

But these shall laft when night has quench'd the pole,

And heav'n is all departed as a fcroll:

And when, as juftice has long fince decreed,

This earth fhall blaze, and a new world fucceed,

Then these thy glorious works, and they who share,
That Hope which can alone exclude despair,

Shall

Shall live exempt from weakness and decay,
The brightest wonders of an endless day.
Happy the bard, (if that fair name belong
To him that blends no fable with his fong)
Whofe lines uniting, by an honest art,

The faithful monitor's and poet's part,

Seek to delight, that they may mend mankind,
And while they captivate, inform the mind:
Still happier if he till a thankful foil,

And fruit reward his honourable toil :

But happier far who comfort thofe that wait,
To hear plain truth af Judah's hallow'd gate:
Their language fimple, as their manners meek,
No shining ornaments have they to seek,
Nor labour they, nor time nor talents waste,
In forting flowers to fuit a fickle tafte;
But while they fpeak the wisdom of the skies,
Which art can only darken and disguise,
Th' abundant harvest, recompence divine,
Repays their work-the gleaning only, mine.

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CHARITY.

Qua nibil majus meliufve terris

Fata donavere, boniq; divi,

Nec dabunt, quamvis redeant in aurum

Tempora prifcum.

HOR. Lib. IV. Ode II.

AIREST and foremost of the train that wait,

FAIR

On man's most dignified and happiest state,

Whether we name thee Charity or love,
Chief grace below, and all in all above,
Profper (I prefs thee with a powerful plea)
A task I venture on, impell'd by thee:
Oh never seen but in thy bleft effects,
Nor felt but in the foul that heav'n felects;

Who

Who feeks to praife thee, and to make thee known

To other hearts, must have thee in his own.

Come, prompt me with benevolent defires,
Teach me to kindle at thy gentle fires,
And though difgrae'd and flighted, to redeem
A poet's name, by making thee the theme.
God, working ever on a focial plan,

By various ties attaches man to man :
He made at first, though free and unconfin'd,
One man the common father of the kind,
That ev'ry tribe, though plac'd as he fees beft,
Where feas or defarts part them from the reft,
Diff'ring in language, manners, or in face,
Might feel themselves allied to all the race.
When Cook-lamented, and with tears as just
As ever mingled with heroic duft,

Steer'd Britain's oak into a world unknown,
And in his country's glory fought his own,
Wherever he found man, to nature true,
The rights of man were facred in his view:

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