Bless'd Contemplation! could the preacher dwell For ever on that theme! but ah! too soon Justice amidst the eternal attributes
Lifts her stern front; and to reflection's glance Unfolds a crimson register: the heart.
Conscious recoils, and owns the dreadful record A transcript of itself.-Where now, vile Man! Where, Sinner! where, Pollution! is thy refuge? The power, the wisdom, and whate'er thou saw'st In Him, the Almighty-saw'st rejoicing-now But serves to arm with tenfold energy [ness Affronted Vengeance! And the empyreal bright- (Brightness to pure angelic spirits) to thee Gleams kindling terrors of Omnipotence, And flaming shafts of Wrath inevitable.
Yet, ere thou sink beneath the incumbent weight Of Guilt and of Dismay, attend once more The Preacher's call-Raise, thou appall'd, thy face Again toward Heaven's high throne; look up and Incarnate Deity, the Word, the Life,
The Word of Life, the Life of Righteousness, The very consubstantial Son of God, Become thy Advocate, thy Expiation,
Thy Health, thy Stay, thy Heritage for ever! Oh! glorious tidings! Oh, supreme delight To give these tidings to mankind!
To point redemption out! to pour the balm Of Peace and Comfort on Despair! to lead Repentant Sense to Faith, and Faith to Purity, And Purity to Zeal, and Zeal to Virtue, And Virtue to the Christian's high preeminence, His essence, his perfection-Charity!
Such purpose, so important, dignifies The Preacher's occupation:-ill discharged
When Pride assumes the veil of Sanctity, Administering through spiritual dominion To lordly empire o'er the lives of men; Such as in Rome, or farthest Paraguay, Pontiff or Jesuit, by threats or wiles,
Bull, relique, legend, sophism, sword, or fire Establish'd.-Nor doth he dishonour less His hallow'd calling who for doctrines gives Interpretation private, personal,
Fantastic, or unfruitful; changing thus The image of the Sole Immutable
To likeness of mere man.-Nor he who, fired By worldly objects, lucre, or the acclaim Of shallow multitudes, makes holy Truth Delusion's instrument.-Nor he who pines Envious of excellence, and lours gaunt scorn, If chance a brother's merit rise to view. Far other signs, far other principles [ment, Mark the true Preacher; mark his life, his judg- His eloquence, his converse, his affections; Meekness, complacence, gentle sympathy, Cheerful concession, manly perseverance, The dignity of truth, the condescension Of ever during patience and sweet candour, The wish, the warm solicitude to spread Goodwill, improvement, amity, joy, confidence, Salvation, these inspire him-these exalt His thought, act, speech.-Thou also, virgin-born, Saviour of Men! Thou also givest thy Spirit To him whom thou approvest,-him whose zeal Describes Thee as Thou art, Author and Finisher Of Faith, Obedience, peaceful Modesty, And Love uncircumscribed;-who, most resem- But teaches mortals to resemble thee [bling,
By holiness on earth;-that, made hereafter Immortal like thyself, they may partake
Thy purchased kingdom,-purchased by the pains Of suffering Godhead; and around thy seat, Clad with ethereal radiance, resound
Thy triumphs-Sin abolish'd, Death destroy'd, The just made perfect, and thy faithful ones Throned in beatitude for evermore!
As lamps burn silent, with unconscious light, So modest ease in beauty shines most bright: Unaiming charms with edge resistless fall, And she who means no mischief does it all.
HON. AND REV. F. CORNWALLIS.
IN Frolic's hour, ere serious thoughts had birth, There was a time, my dear Cornwallis, when The Muse would take me on her airy wing, And waft to views romantic, there present Some motley vision, shade and sun, the cliff O'erhanging, sparkling brooks, and ruins gray : Meanders traced, and bid me catch the form Of shifting clouds, and rainbows learn to paint. Sometimes Ambition, brushing by, would twitch My spirits, and with winning look, sublime, Allure to follow. What if steep her track,
The mountain's top would overpay, when climb'd, The scaler's toil.-Her temple there was high, And lovely thence her prospect. She could tell Where laurels grew-whence many a wreath antique.'
But more advised to shun the barren twig (What is immortal verdure without fruit?) And woo some thriving art; her numerous mines Were open to the searcher's toil and skill.'
Caught by her speech, heart beat, and fluttering Sounded irregular marches to be gone; [pulse What! pause a moment, when Ambition calls! No: the blood gallops to the distant goal, And throbs to reach it. Let the lame sit still! When Fortune at the mountain's verge extreme, Array'd in decent garb, though somewhat thin, Smiling approach'd, and what occasion,' ask'd, "Of climbing?'-She, already provident,
Had cater'd well, if stomachs can digest Her viands, and a palate not too nice; Unfit,' she said, for perilous attempt, That manly nerve required and sinews tough.' She took and laid me in a vale remote Amid the scenes of gloomy fir and yew, On poppy earth where Morpheus laid the bed, Obscurity her curtains round me drew, And siren Sloth a dull quietus play'd.
Sithence, no fairy sights, no quickening ray, No stir of pulse, or objects to entice Abroad the spirits, but the cloister'd heart Sits squat at home, like pagod, in a niche Demure, or mutes, with a nod-watching eye And folded arms, in presence of their king, Turk or Indostan-cities, forums, courts,
And prating Sanhedrims, and drumming wars 'Affect no more than stories told the bed Lethargic, which at intervals the sick
Hears and forgets, and wakes to doze again. Instead of converse and variety,
The same dull round, the same unchecker'd scene, Such are thy comforts, blessed Solitude!
But Innocence is there, but peace of mind, And simple Quiet, with her lap of down; Meads lowing, tune of birds, and lapse of streams, And saunter with a book, and warbling muse In praise of hawthorns.—Life's whole business Is it to bask in the sun! if so, a snail Were happy loitering on a southern wall. Why sits Content upon a cottage sill At eventide, and blesses the coarse meal In sooty corner? why sweet Slumber loves Hard pallets?-not because, from crowds remote, Sequester'd in a dingle's bushy lap:
"Tis labour makes the peasant's cheering face, And works out his repose-for Ease must ask The leave of Diligence to be enjoy'd.
O, turn in time from that enchantress Ease! Her smiles are feign'd; her palatable cup By standing grows insipid-and beware The bottom, for there's poison in the lees.— What health impair'd, what spirits crush'd and maim'd,
What martyrs to her chain of sluggish lead! No such observance Russ or Persian claim Despotic-and as vassals long inured
To servile homage grow supine and tame, So fares it with our sovereign and her train. What though with lure ensnaring she pretend
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