Thoughts, like old vultures, prey upon their heartstrings,

And the smart twinges, when the eye beholds the Lofty Judge frowning, and a flood of vengeance Rolling afore him.

Hopeless immortals! how they scream and shiver
While devils push them to the pit wide-yawning
Hideous and gloomy to receive them headlong
Down to the centre.

Stop here, my fancy: (all away, ye horrid
Doleful ideas!) come, arise to Jesus,

How he sits God-like! and the saints around him

Throned, yet adoring!

O may I sit there when he comes triumphant,
Dooming the nations! then ascend to glory,
While our Hosannas all along the passage

Shout the Redeemer.

To Dr. Thomas Gibson.

The Life of Souls, 1704.

SWIFT as the sun revolves the day
We hasten to the dead,

Slaves to the wind we puff away,

And to the ground we tread,

"Tis air that lends us life, when first
The vital bellows heave:

Our flesh we borrow of the dust;
And when a mother's care has nurst
The babe to manly size, we must
With usury pay the grave.

Rich juleps drawn from precious ore
Still tend the dying flame;

And plants and roots, of barbarous name,

Torn from the Indian shore.

Thus we support our tottering flesh,

Our cheeks resume the rose afresh.
When bark and steel play well their game

To save our sinking breath,
And Gibson with his awful power,
Rescues the poor precarious hour

From the demands of Death.

But art and nature, powers and charms,
And drugs, and recipes, and forms,
Yield us, at last, to greedy worms
A despicable prey;

I'd have a life to call my own,
That shall depend on heaven alone;

Nor air, nor earth, nor sea

Mix their base essenses with mine,
Nor claim dominion so divine

To give me leave to be.

H 2

Sure there's a mind that reigns
O'er the dull current of my veins ;
I feel the inward pulse beat high
With vigorous immortality.

Let earth resume the flesh it gave,
And breath dissolve amongst the winds;
Gibson, the things that fear a grave,
That I can lose, or you can save,
Are not akin to minds.

We claim acquaintance with the skies,
Upward our spirits hourly rise,

And these our thoughts employ:

When Heaven shall sign our grand release,
We are no strangers to the place,
The business, or the joy.

False Greatness.

MYLO, forbear to call him blest
That only boasts a large estate,
Should all the treasures of the West
Meet and conspire to make him great.
I know thy better thoughts, I know
Why reason can't descend so low.

Let a broad stream with golden sands
Through all his meadows roll,

He's but a wretch, with all his lands,
That wears a narrow soul.

He swells amidst his wealthy store,
And proudly poising what he weighs,
In his own scale he fondly lays
Huge heaps of shining ore.

He spreads the balance wide to hold
His manors and his farms,

And cheats the beam with loads of gold
He hugs between his arms,

So might the plough-boy climb a tree,
When Croesus mounts his throne,

And both stand up, and smile to see
How long their shadow's grown.

Alas! how vain their fancies be
To think that shape their own!

Thus mingled still with wealth and state,
Croesus himself can never know;
His true dimensions, and his weight
Are far inferior to their show.
Were I so tall to reach the pole,
Or grasp the ocean with my span,
I must be measured by my soul :
The mind's the standard of the man.

The Ant, or Emmet.

THESE Emmets, how little they are in our eyes! We tread them to dust, and a troop of them dies Without our regard or concern:

Yet, as wise as we are, if we went to their school, There's many a sluggard and many a fool,

Some lessons of wisdom might learn.

They don't wear their time out in sleeping or play, But gather up corn in a sun-shiny day,

And for winter they lay up their stores : They manage their work in such regular forms

One would think they foresaw all the frosts and the storms,

And so brought their food within doors.

But I have less sense than a poor creeping ant,
If I take not due care for the things I shall want,
Nor provide against dangers in time.

When death or old age shall stare in my face,
What a wretch shall I be in the end of my days,
If I trifle away all my prime !

Now, now, while my strength and my youth are in bloom,

Let me think what will serve me when sickness

shall come,

And pray that my sins be forgiven.