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النشر الإلكتروني

In angel light array'd, beyond the stars,
Some more exalted form her fpirit wears ;
The work of God, that beauteous clay, which here
In infant charms so lovely could appear,
As tho' in nature's -nicest model cast,
Exactly polish'd, wrought too fine to last
By the same pow'rful hand again shall rise,
To bloom more gay, more lovely in the skies.
No fickness there can the pure


Nor death presume God's image to destroy.
Those seats of pleasure, not a tear shall ftain,
In them not ev'n a wish shall glow in vain.

That active mind, intent on trifles here,
Enlarges now to objects worth its care ;
Looks down with scorn upon the toys below,
And burns, with transport, better worlds to know,
Where scenes of glory open to her fight,
And new improvements furnish new delight;
Where friendly angels, for her guidance giv'n,
Lead her, admiring, thro' the courts of heav'n.

No wonder then her course so swiftly run,
Like the young eaglet, tow'ring to the sun.
Wing'd for eternal bliss, and plum'd for day,
Her foul, enraptur'd, made such hafte away,
Impatient to regain its native shore,
Just smil'd at folly, and look'd back no more.

That winning nature, and obliging mien,
Pleas’d to see all, by all with pleasure seen.
Smiling and sweet as vernal flow'rs new blown,
Associates now with tempers like her own.

Her love to me (how artless and sincere !)
Rises from earth to heav'n, and centers there,
So pure a flame, heav'ns gracious Sire will own,
And with paternal love indulgent crown.

Cease, then, frail nature, to lament in vain,
Reason forbids to wish her back again ;
Rather congratulate her happier fate,
And new advancement to a better ftate.
This blessing quick recall’d, can Heay’n bestow,
No more in pity to a father's woe?


Know the same God, who gave, hath tak'n away,
He orders her to go, and thee to stay,

Tho' in this vale of misery, alone,
Deserted, weary, thou should'st travel on,
Still be resign'd, my soul! his will be done.

Escap'd from life, and all its train of ills,
Which, ah! too sure, the hoary pilgrim feels,
To shorter trial doom'd, and lighter toil,
Ere sin could tempt her, or the world defile.
She, favour'd innocent, retires to reít,
Tastes but the cup of sorrow, and is blest.

Such the mild Saviour to his arms receives,
And the full blessings of his kingdom gives.
There angels wait, submissive, round his throne,
To praise his goodness in these infants shewn.
Amidst that gentle throng, how heav'nly bright.
Distinguish'd Lucy shines, fair star of light!
Short, yet how pleasing, was her visit here,
She's now remov’d to grace a nobler sphere.
There, while thy much lov'd parents mourn below,
Thou, happy child! fhalt not our sorrows know.
Eternal joys be thine, full anthems raise,
And glad all heav'n with thy Creator's praise.

If we are firmly resolved to live up to the dictates of reason, without any regard to wealth, reputation, or the like confiderations, any more than as they fall in with. our principal design, we may go through life with steadiness and pleasure. But if we act by several broken views, and will not only be virtuous, but wealthy, popular, and every thing that has a value set upon it by the world, we shall live and die in misery and repentance.

INQUIRIES after happiness, and rules for attain. ing it, are not so necessary and useful to mankind, as the arts of confolation, and supporting one's self under affliction. The utmost we can hope for, in this world, is contentment; if we aim at any thing higher, we shall meet with nothing but grief and disappointments. A man should direct all his studies and endeavours, at mak: ing himself easy now, and happy hereafter.

IT is of the last importance to season the passions of a child with devotion, which feldom dies in a mind that has received an early tincture of it. Though it may seem extinguished for a while by the cares of the world, the heats of youth, or the allurements of vice, it generally breaks out, and discovers itself again as soon as discretion, consideration, age, or misfortunes, have brought the man to himself. The fire may be covered and overlaid, but cannot be entirely quenched and smothered.

PURE devotion opens the mind to great conceptions, and fills it with more sublime ideas, than any that are to be met with in the most exalted science; and at the same time warms and agitates the soul more than sensual pleafure.

IT is of unspeakable advantage to poffefs our minds with an habitual good intention, and to aim all our thoughts, words, and actions, at the same laudable end; the glory of our Maker, the good of mankind, and the benefit of our own souls.

SOCRATES, on the day of his execution, a little before the draught of poison was brought to him, entertaining his friends with a discourse on the immortality of the soul, has these words : " Whether or no God will approve of my actions, I know not; but this I am sure of, that I have at all times made it my endeavour to please him ; and I have a good hope, that this my en. deavour will be accepted by him,”


WHEN rising from the bed of death,

O’erwhelm'd with gilt and fear,
I see my Maker, face to face,

O how shall I appear?
If yet, while pardon may be found,

And mercy may be fought,

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My heart with inward horror shrinko,

And trembles at the thought,
When thou, O Lord ! shalt stand disclos'd,

In majesty severe,
And fit on judgment on my soul,

Oh! how shall I appear?
But thou haft told the troubled mind,

Who does her fins lament,
The timely tribute of her tears,

Shall endless woe prevent.
Then see the sorrows of my heart,

Ere yet it be too late,
And hear my Saviour's dying groans,

To give those sorrows weight.
For never shall my soul despair,

Her pardon to procure,
Who knows thine only Son has dy'd,

To make her pardon sure.
SELF-LOVE but serves the virtuous mind to wake,
As the small pebble stirs the peaceful lake ;
The centre mov'd, a circle strait succeeds,
Another still, and still another spreads ;
Friend, parent, neighbour, first it will embrace,
His country next, and next all human race.
Wide and more wide, th' o'erflowings of the mind
Take every creature in of every kind.
Earth smiles around, with boundless bounty blest,
And Heav'n beholds its image in his breaft.

IT may be laid down as a position, which will seldom deceive, that when a man cannot bear his own company, there is something wrong. He must fly from himself, either because he feels a tediousness in life from the equipoise of an empty mind, which, having no tendency to one motion, more than another, but as it is impelled by some external power, must always have recourse to foreign objects; or he must be afraid of the intrusion of some unpleasing ideas, and is, perhaps, struggling to əscape from the remembrance of a loss, the fear of a calamity, or some other thought of greater horror.


CAN a mortal look down, without giddiness and tupefaction, into the vast abyss of Eternal Wisdom? Can a mind, that fees not infinitely, perfectly comprehend any thing among an infinity of objects mutually relative? Remember, that perfect happiness cannot be conferred on a creature, for perfect happiness is an attribute as incom, municable, as perfect power and eternity

Extract from Cowper's Poem called the Talk..

That owes its pleasures to another's pains;
That feeds upon the fobs and dying shrieks
Of harmless nature ; dumb, but yet

With eloquence, that agonies inspire,
Of filent tears, and heart-distending fighs.
Vain tears, alas! and fighs that seldom find
A corresponding tone in jovial fouls,
Well, one at least is safe; one shelter'd hare
Has never heard the sanguinary yell
Of cruel man exulting in her woes.
Innocent partner of my peaceful home,
Whom ten long years experience of my care
Has made at last familiar, she has lost
Much of her vigilant, instinctive dread,
Not needful here beneath a roof like mine.
Yes, thou may'ft eat thy bread, and lick the hand
That feeds thee; thou may’it frolic on the floor
At ev'ning, and at night retire secure
To thy straw couch, and slumber unalarm’d;
For I have gain'd thy confidence, and pledg'd
All that is human in me, to protect
Thine unsuspecting gratitude and love.
If I survive thee, I will dig thy grave;
And when I place thee in it, sighing say,
I knew at least one hare that had a friend.

* From Cooper's Poems, in 2 vols. 8vo,--published by J. Johnfon, St. Paul's Church-yard ; also sold by the printer hercof, price %s in boards.


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