The form etherial bursts upon his sight, And moves in all the majesty of light.
Tho' loud at first the Pilgrim's passion grew, Sudden he gaz'd, and wist not what to do; Surprise in secret chains his words suspends, And in a calm his settling temper ends. But silence here the beauteous angel broke (The voice of music ravish'd as he spoke:)
'Thy prayer, thy praise, thy life to vice unknown, In sweet memorial rise before the throne: These charms success in our bright region find, And force an angel down to calm thy mind; For this commission'd, I forsook the skyNay, cease to kneel!-thy fellow-servant I. 'Then know the truth of government Divine, And let these scruples be no longer thine. 'The Maker justly claims that world he made, In this the right of Providence is laid; Its sacred majesty thro' all depends On using second means to work his ends; 'Tis thus, withdrawn in state from human eye, The Power exerts his attributes on high; Your actions uses, nor controls your will, And bids the doubting sons of men be still.
'What strange events can strike with more surprise,
Than those which lately struck thy wondering eyes? Yet, taught by these, confess the Almighty just; And, where you can't unriddle, learn to trust.
'The great, vain man, who far'd on costly food, Whose life was too luxurious to be good; Who made his ivory stands with goblets shine, And forc'd his guests to morning draughts of wine; Has, with the cup, the graceless custom lost, And still he welcomes, but with less of cost.
'The mean suspicious wretch, whose bolted door
Ne'er mov'd in pity to the wandering poor, With him I left the cup to teach his mind That Heaven can bless, if mortals will be kind.
Conscious of wanting worth, he views the bowl, And feels compassion touch his grateful soul. Thus artists melt the sullen ore of lead, With heaping coals of fire upon its head; In the kind warmth the metal learns to glow, And, loose from dross, the silver runs below.
'Long had our pious friend in virtue trod, But now the child half-wean'd his heart from God; (Child of his age) for him he liv'd in pain, And measur'd back his steps to earth again. To what excesses had his dotage run! But God, to save the father, took the son. To all but thee in fits he seem'd to go; And 'twas my ministry to deal the blow. The poor fond parent, humbled in the dust, Now owns in tears the punishment was just. 'But how had all his fortunes felt a wreck, Had that false servant sped in safety back! This night his treasur'd heaps he meant to steal, And what a fund of charity would fail! Thus heaven instructs thy mind: this trial o'er, Depart in peace, resign, and sin no more.'
On sounding pinions here the youth withdrew; The sage stood wondering as the seraph flew. Thus look'd Elisha, when to mount on high, His master took the chariot of the sky: The fiery pomp ascending left the view; The prophet gaz'd, and wish'd to follow too. The bending Hermit here a prayer begun : Lord! as in heaven, on earth thy will be done. Then, gladly turning, sought his ancient place, And pass'd a life of piety and peace.
A NIGHT-PIECE, On Death.
BY the blue taper's trembling light
No more I waste the wakeful night, Intent with endless view to pore The schoolmen and the sages o'er: Their books from wisdom widely stray, Or point at best the longest way, I'll seek a readier path, and go Where wisdom's surely taught below. How deep yon azure dyes the sky! Where orbs of gold unnumber'd lie, While through their ranks in silver pride The nether crescent seems to glide. The slumbering breeze forgets to breathe, The lake is smooth and clear beneath, Where once again the spangled show Descends to meet our eyes below. The grounds which on the right aspire, In dimness from the view retire : The left presents a place of graves, Whose wall the silent water laves. That steeple guides thy doubtful sight Among the livid gleams of night. There pass, with melancholy state, By all the solemn heaps of fate, And think, as softly sad you tread Above the venerable dead,
'Time was, like thee they life possess'd, And time shall be, that thou shalt rest.' Those, with bending osier bound, That nameless heave the crumbled ground, Quick to the glancing thought disclose Where toil and poverty repose.
The flat smooth stones that bear a name, The chissel's slender help to fame, (Which ere our set of friends decay Their frequent steps may wear away;)
A middle race of mortals own, Men, half ambitious, all unknown. The marble tombs that rise on high, Whose dead in vaulted arches lie, Whose pillars swell with sculptur'd stones, Arms, angels, epitaphs, and bones; These, all the poor remains of state, Adorn the rich, or praise the great; Who while on earth in fame they live, Are senseless of the fame they give.
Ha! while I gaze, pale Cynthia fades, The bursting earth unveils the shades: All slow, and wan, and wrapp'd with shrouds, They rise in visionary crowds,
And all with sober accent cry,
'Think, mortal, what it is to die!'
Now from yon black and funeral yew, That bathes the charnel-house with dew, Methinks, I hear a voice begin; (Ye ravens, cease your croaking din, Ye tolling clocks, no time resound O'er the long lake and midnight ground) It sends a peal of hollow groans, Thus speaking from among the bones :- • When men my scythe and darts supply, How great a King of Fears am I? They view me like the last of things; They make, and then they dread my stings. Fools! if you less provok'd your fears, No more my spectre form appears. Death's but a path that must be trod, If man would ever pass to God: A port of calms, a state of ease From the rough rage of swelling seas.
'Why then thy flowing sable stoles, Deep pendent cypress, mourning poles, Loose scarfs to fall athwart thy weeds, Long palls, drawn herses, cover'd steeds,
And plumes of black, that as they tread, Nod o'er the 'scutcheons of the dead?
'Nor can the parted body know, Nor wants the soul, these forms of woe: As men who long in prison dwell, With lamps that glimmer round the cell, Whene'er their suffering years are run, Spring forth to greet the glittering sun: Such joy, though far transcending sense, Have pious souls at parting hence. On earth, and in the body plac'd, A few, and evil years, they waste: But when their chains are cast aside, See the glad scene unfolding wide, Clap the glad wing, and tower away, And mingle with the blaze of day."
A HYMN TO CONTENTMENT.
LOVELY, lasting peace of mind! Sweet delight of human kind!
Heavenly born, and bred on high, To crown the favourites of the sky With more of happiness below, Than victors in a triumph know! Whither, O whither art thou fled, To lay thy meek, contented head? What happy region dost thou please To make the seat of calnıs and ease?
Ambition searches all its sphere Of pomp and state, to meet thee there. Increasing Avarice would find Thy presence in its gold enshrin'd. The bold adventurer ploughs his way, Through rocks amidst the foaming sea, To gain thy love; and then perceives Thou wert not in the rocks and waves. The silent heart which grief assails, Treads soft and lonesome o'er the vales;
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