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CON T E M P L A TION

ON

NIG H T. WHETHER amid the gloom of night I ftray,

Or my glad eyes enjoy revolving day,
Still Nature's various face informs my sense,
Of an all-wise, all-powerful Providence.

When the gay sun first breaks the shades of night,
And strikes the distant eastern hills with light,
Colour returns, the plains their livery wear,
And a bright verdure clothes the fmiling year ;
The blooming flowers with opening beauties glow,
And grazing flocks their milky fleeces show;
The barren cliffs with chalky fronts'arife,
And a pure azure arches o’er the skies.
But, when the gloomy reign of Night returns,
Stript of her fading pride all nature mourns:
The trees no more their wonted verdure boast,
But weep in dewy tears their beauty lost;
No dittant landskips draw our curious eyes,
Wrapt in Night's robe the whole creation lies.
Yet still, e'en now, while darkness clothes the land,
We view the traces of th’ Almighty hand;
Millions of stars in Heaven's wide vault appear,
And with new glories hangs the boundless Iphere :
The silver moon her western couch forsakes,
And o'er the skies her nightly circle makes,

Her

Her folid globe beats back the sunny rays,
And to the world her borrow'd light repays.

Whether those stars, that twinkling lustre fend,
Are sur's, and rolling worlds those suns attend,
Man may conjecture, and new schemes declare;
Yet all his systems but conjectures are.
But this we know, that Heaven's eternal King,
Who bade this universe from nothing spring,
Can at his Word bid numerous worlds appear,
And rising worlds th' all-powerful Word shall hear,

When to the Western main the sun descends,
To other lands a rising day he lends ;
The spreading dawn another shepherd (pies,
The wakeful flocks from their warın folds arise ;
Refresh'd, the peasant seeks his early toil,
And bids the plough correêt the fallow soil.
While we in tleep's embraces waste the night,
The climes oppos d enjoy meridian light:
And when those lands the busy fun forsakes,
With us again the rosy morning wakes ;
In lazy sleep the night rolls swift away,
And ncither clime lainents his absent ray.
When the pure

foul is from the body flown,
No more shall Night's alternate reign be known :
The sun no more thall rolling light below,
But from th’ Almighty 1treams of glory flow.
Oh, may some nobler thought my soul employ,
Than empty, transient, sublunary joy!
The stars shall drop, the sun shall lose his flame;
But thou, O God, for ever shine the same.

A THOUGHT

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ERE the foundations of the world were laid,

Ere kindling light th’Almighty word obey'd,
Thou wert; and when the fubterraneous flame
Shall burit its prison, and devour this frame,
From
angry

Heaven when the keen lightning flies,
When fervent heat diffolves the melting skies,
Thou still fhalt be; still as thou wert before,
And know no change, when Time shall be no more.
O endless thought! divine eternity!
Th’immortal foul fares but a part of thee ;
For thou wert prefent when our life began,
When the warm duft shot up in breathing man.

Ah! what is life? with ills encompass’d round,
Amidst our hopes, Fate strikes the sudden wound:
To-day the 1tatesman of new honour dreams,
To-morrow Death destroys his airy schemes ;
Is mouldy treasure in thy chesi confin'd?
Think all that treasure thou must leave behind ;
Thy heir with smiles shall view thy blazon'd hearse;
And all thy hoards with lavish hand disperse.
Should certain fate th’impending blow delay,
'Thy mirth will ficken, and thy bloom decay;

Then

Then feeble age will all thy nerves disarın,
No more thy blood its narrow channels warm.
Who then would wish to stretch this narrow span,
To suffer life beyond the date of man?

The virtuous foul pursues a nobler aim,
And life regards but as a fleeting dream :
She longs to wake, and wishes to get free,
To launch from earth into eternity.
For, while the boundless theme extends our thought,
Ten thousand thousand rolling years are nought.

AN

EPIGRAMMATICAL EXPOSTULATION * *

FRO
ROM Mohock and from Hawkubite,

Good Lord, deliver me ;
Who wander through the streets by night,

Committing cruelty.
They Nash our sons with bloody knives,

And on our daughters fall ;
And if they ravith not our wives,

We have good luck withal.
Coaches and chairs they overturn,

Nay carts most easily :
Therefore from Gog, and eke Magog,

Good Lord, deliver me! * Annexed, in 1712, to Gay's “ Wonderful Prophecy, &c.” a humourous treatise on the Mohocks.

EPITAPH

Ε Ρ Ι Τ Α Ρ Η

OF

B Y E-WORD S.

HE
TERE lies a round woman, who thought mighty odd

Every word she e'er heard in this church about God.
To convince her of God, the good Dean did endeavour,
But still in her heart she held Nature more clever.
Though he talk'd much of virtue, her head always run
Upon fonething or other, the found better fun.
For the dame, by her skill in affairs astronomical,
Imagin'd, to live in the clouds was but comical.
In this world, she despis'd every soul she met here,
And now she's in t'other, she thinks it but queer.

MY OWN EPITAPH.

LFE is a jest, and all things how it ;

I thought so once, but now I know it.

A

M

Ο Τ

Τ Ο

FOR THE OPERA OF MUTIUS SCÆVOLA *

or

WHO here blames words, or verses, songs,

fingers, Like Mutius Scævola will burn his fingers.

* An opera by Mr. Rolli, performed in 1921.

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