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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 fo lovely could appear,
As tho' in nature's nicest model caft,
Exactly polish'd, wrought too fine to laft
By the fame pow'rful hand again fhall rife,
To bloom more gay, more lovely in the skies.
No fickness there can the pure frame annoy,
Nor death prefume God's image to destroy.
Those feats of pleasure, not a tear fhall ftain,
In them not ev❜'n a wifh fhall glow in vain.

That active mind, intent on trifles here,
Enlarges now to objects worth its care;
Looks down with fcorn 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 courfe fo fwiftly run,
Like the young eaglet, tow'ring to the fun.
Wing'd for eternal blifs, and plum'd for day,
Her foul, enraptur'd, made fuch haste away,
Impatient to regain its native fhore,
Juft fmil'd at folly, and look'd back no more.
That winning nature, and obliging mien,
Pleas'd to fee all, by all with pleasure feen.
Smiling and fweet as vernal flow'rs new blown,
Affociates now with tempers like her own.

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

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Ceafe, then, frail nature, to lament in vain,
Reafon forbids to with her back again;
Rather congratulate her happier fate,
And new advancement to a better state.

This bleffing quick recall'd, can Heav'n bestow,
No more in pity to a father's woe ?

Know

Know the fame God, who gave, hath tak'n away,
He orders her to go, and thee to stay.
Tho' in this vale of mifery, alone,
Deferted, weary, thou fhould'st travel on,
Still be refign'd, my foul! his will be done.
Efcap'd from life, and all its train of ills,
Which, ah! too fure, the hoary pilgrim feels,
To fhorter trial doom'd, and lighter toil,
Ere fin could tempt her, or the world defile.
She, favour'd innocent, retires to reít,
Tastes but the cup of forrow, and is bleft.
Such the mild Saviour to his arms receives,
And the full bleffings of his kingdom gives.
There angels wait, fubmiffive, round his throne,
Te praife his goodnefs in thefe infants fhewn.
Amidst that gentle throng, how heav'nly bright.
Diftinguish'd Lucy fhines, fair ftar of light!
Short, yet how pleafing, 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 forrows know.
Eternal joys be thine, full anthems raise,

And glad all heav'n with thy Creator's praise.

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IF we are firmly refolved 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 defign, we may go through life with steadinefs and pleasure. But if we act by feveral broken views, and will not only be virtuous, but wealthy, popular, and every thing that has a value fet upon it by the world, we fhall live and die in mifery and repentance.

INQUIRIES after happiness, and rules for attaining it, are not fo neceffary and useful to mankind, as the arts of confolation, and fupporting one's felf under afflic tion. 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 difappointments. A man should direct all his ftudies and endeavours, at mak ing himself eafy now, and happy hereafter.

IT is of the laft importance to feafon the paffions 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 foon as difcretion, confideration, 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 fublime ideas, than any that are to be met with in the most exalted science; and at the fame time warms and agitates the foul more than fenfual pleafure.

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

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

H Y M N.

WHEN rifing from the bed of death,
O'erwhelm'd with gilt and fear,

I fee my Maker, face to face,
O how fhall I appear?

If yet, while pardon may be found,
And mercy may be fought,

My

My heart with inward horror fhrinks,
And trembles at the thought,

When thou, O Lord! fhalt ftand difclos'd

In majefty fevere,

And fit on judgment on my foul,

Oh! how fhall 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 fee the forrows of my heart,
Ere yet it be too late,

And hear my Saviour's dying groans,
To give those forrows weight.
For never fhall my foul despair,
Her pardon to procure,

Who knows thine only Son has dy'd,

To make her pardon fure.

SELF-LOVE but ferves the virtuous mind to wake,
As the small pebble ftirs the peaceful lake;
The centre mov'd, a circle ftrait fucceeds,
Another ftill, and still another spreads;
Friend, parent, neighbour, firft 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 fmiles around, with boundlefs bounty bleft,
And Heav'n beholds its image in his breast.

IT may be laid down as a pofition, which will feldom deceive, that when a man cannot bear his own company, there is fomething wrong. He must fly from himself, either because he feels a tedioufnefs in life from the equipoife of an empty mind, which, having no tendency to one motion, more than another, but as it is impelled by fome external power, muft always have recourfe to foreign objects; or he must be afraid of the intrusion of fome unpleafing ideas, and is, perhaps, ftruggling to ǝscape from the remembrance of a lofs, the fear of a calamity, or fome other thought of greater horror.

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CAN a mortal look down, without giddinefs and Atupefaction, into the vast abyfs 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 Task.

-DETESTED Sport!

That owes its pleasures to another's pains;
That feeds upon the fobs and dying fhrieks
Of harmless nature; dumb, but yet endued
With eloquence, that agonies infpire,
Of filent tears, and heart-diftending fighs.
Vain tears, alas! and fighs that feldom find
A correfponding tone in jovial fouls.
Well, one at least is fafe; one shelter'd hare
Has never heard the fanguinary 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 laft familiar, fhe has loft
Much of her vigilant, inftinctive 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'st frolic on the floor
At ev'ning, and at night retire fecure

To thy ftraw couch, and flumber unalarm'd;
For I have gain'd thy confidence, and pledg'd
All that is human in me, to protect
Thine unfufpecting gratitude and love.
If I furvive thee, I will dig thy grave;
And when I place thee in it, fighing fay,
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; alfo fold by the printer hereof, price 3s in boards.

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