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There, and there only (though the deist rave,
And atheist, if earth bear so base a flave)
There, and there only, is the pow'r to save.
There no delufive hope invites despair,
No mock'ry meets you, no deception there.
The spells and charms that blinded you before,
All vanish there, and fafcinate no more.

I am no preacher, let this hint fuffice,
The cross once feen, is death to ev'ry vice:
Elfe he that hung there, fuffer'd all his pain,
Bled, groan'd, and agoniz'd, and died in vain.

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TRUTH.

Penfentur trutiná.

HOR.

MAN on the dubious waves of error toss'd,
His fhip half-founder'd and his compass lost,
Sees far as human optics may command,
A fleeping fog, and fancies it dry land:
Spreads all his canvass, ev'ry finew plies,
Pants for❜t, aims at it, enters it, and dies.
Then farewell all felf-fatisfying schemes,
His well-built fystems, philofophic dreams,
Deceitful views of future blifs, farewell!
He reads his fentence in the flames of hell.
Hard lot of man! to toil for the reward

Of virtue, and yet lofe it-wherefore hard?
He that would win the race, must guide his horse
Obedient to the cuftoms of the course,

Elfe,

Elfe, though unequall'd to the goal he flies,

A meaner than himself shall gain the prize.
Grace leads the right way, if you chufe the wrong,
Take it and perifh, but reftrain your tongue;
Charge not, with light fufficient and left free,
Your wiltul fuicide on God's decree.

Oh how unlike the complex works of man,
Heav'n's easy, artlefs, unincumber'd plan!
No meretricious graces to beguile,

No cluft'ring ornaments to clog the pile,
From oftentation as from weakness free,
It ftands like the cærulean arch we see,
Majestic in its own fimplicity.
Infcrib'd above the portal, from afar
Confpicuous as the brightness of a star,
Legible only by the light they give,

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Stand the foul-quick'ning words-BELIEVE AND

LIVE.

Too many, fhock'd at what should charm them most, Defpife the plain direction and are loft.

Heav'n on fuch terms! they cry with proud difdain, Incredible, impoffibie, and vain

Rebel becaufe 'tis easy to obey,

And fcorn, for its own fake, the gracious way.
Thefe are the fober, in whofe cooler brains

Some thought of immortality remains;

The

The rest too busy or too gay, to wait
On the fad theme, their everlasting state,
Sport for a day and perish in a night,
The foam upon the waters not fo light.

Who judg'd the Pharisee? What odious cause
Expos'd him to the vengeance of the laws?
Had he seduc'd a virgin, wrong'd a friend,
Or stabb'd a man to ferve fome private end?
Was blafphemy his fin? Or did he stray
From the strict duties of the facred day?
Sit long and late at the caroufing board?

(Such were the fins with which he charg'd his Lord)
No-the man's morals were exact, what then?
'Twas his ambition to be seen of men ;

His virtues were his pride; and that one vice
Made all his virtues gewgaws of no price;
He wore them as fine trappings for a show,
A praying, fynagogue frequenting beau.

The felf-applauding bird, the peacock fee-
Mark what a fumptuous Pharifee is he !
Meridian fun-beams tempt him to unfold
His radiant glories, azure, green, and gold;
He treads as if fome folemn mufic near,
His measur'd step were govern'd by his ear,
And feems to fay, ye meaner fowl, give place,
I am all fplendor, dignity and grace.

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