And while they toss my name about,
With favour some, and some without,
One, quite indifferent in the cause,
My character impartial draws:

'The Dean, if we believe report, Was never ill-received at court. As for his works in verse and prose, I own myself no judge of those; Nor can I tell what critics thought 'em, But this I know, all people bought 'em. As with a moral view designed To cure the vices of mankind, His vein, ironically grave, Exposed the fool, and lashed the knave. To steal a hint was never known, But what he writ was all his own.

'He never thought an honour done him, Because a duke was proud to own him; Would rather slip aside and choose To talk with wits in dirty shoes; Despised the fools with stars and garters, So often seen caressing Chartres. He never courted men in station, Nor persons held in admiration; Of no man's greatness was afraid, Because he sought for no man's aid. Though trusted long in great affairs, He gave himself no haughty airs. Without regarding private ends, Spent all his credit for his friends; And only chose the wise and good; No flatterers; no allies in blood: But succoured virtue in distress, And seldom failed of good success; As numbers in their hearts must own, Who, but for him, had been unknown.

Perhaps I may allow the Dean
Had too much satire in his vein;
And seemed determined not to starve it,
Because no age could more deserve it.

Yet malice never was his aim;

He lashed the vice, but spared the name;
No individual could resent,
Where thousands equally were meant;
His satire points at no defect,
But what all mortals may correct;
For he abhorred that senseless tribe
Who call it humour when they gibe:
He spared a hump, or crooked nose,
Whose owners set not up for beaux.
True genuine dulness moved his pity,
Unless it offered to be witty.
Those who their ignorance confessed,
He never offended with a jest;
But laughed to hear an idiot quote
A verse from Horace learned by rote.

'He knew a hundred pleasing stories, With all the turns of Whigs and Tories: Was cheerful to his dying day; And friends would let him have his way. 'He gave the little wealth he had To build a house for fools and mad; And showed by one satiric touch, No nation wanted it so much.'

CHARLES WESLEY

FOR CHRISTMAS-DAY

Hark! how all the welkin rings
'Glory to the King of kings!
Peace on earth, and mercy mild,
God and sinners reconciled!'

Joyful, all ye nations, rise,
Join the triumph of the skies;
Universal nature say,

'Christ the Lord is born to-day!'

Christ, by highest Heaven adored;
Christ, the everlasting Lord;
Late in time behold Him come,
Offspring of a virgin's womb!

Veiled in flesh the Godhead see;
Hail, th' incarnate Deity,
Pleased as man with men to appear,
Jesus, our Immanuel here!

Hail! the heavenly Prince of Peace! Hail! the Sun of Righteousness! Light and life to all He brings, Risen with healing in His wings.

Mild He lays His glory by,
Born that man no more may die,
Born to raise the sons of earth,
Born to give them second birth.

Come, Desire of Nations, come,
Fix in us Thy humble home!
Rise, the Woman's conquering Seed,
Bruise in us the Serpent's head!

Now display Thy saving power,
Ruined nature now restore,
Now in mystic union join
Thine to ours, and ours to Thine!

Adam's likeness, Lord, efface;
Stamp Thy image in its place;
Second Adam from above,
Reinstate us in Thy love!

Let us Thee, though lost, regain,
Thee, the Life, the Inner Man:
O! to all Thyself impart,
Formed in each believing heart!

FOR EASTER-DAY

'Christ the Lord is risen to-day,'
Sons of men and angels say:
Raise your joys and triumphs high,
Sing, ye heavens, and earth reply.

Love's redeeming work is done,
Fought the fight, the battle won:
Lo! our Sun's eclipse is o'er;
Lo! He sets in blood no more.

Vain the stone, the watch, the seal; Christ hath burst the gates of hell! Death in vain forbids His rise; Christ hath opened Paradise!

Lives again our glorious King: Where, O Death, is now thy sting? Dying once, He all doth save: Where thy victory, O Grave?

Soar we now where Christ has led,
Following our exalted Head;
Made like Him, like Him we rise;
Ours the Cross, the grave, the skies.

What though once we perished all,
Partners in our parents' fall?
Second life we all receive,
In our Heavenly Adam live.

Risen with Him, we upward move;
Still we seek the things above;
Still pursue, and kiss the Son
Seated on His Father's Throne.

Scarce on earth a thought bestow,
Dead to all we leave below;
Heaven our aim, and loved abode,
Hid our life with Christ in God:

Hid, till Christ our Life appear Glorious in His members here; Joined to Him, we then shall shine, All immortal, all divine.

Hail the Lord of Earth and Heaven!
Praise to Thee by both be given!
Thee we greet triumphant now!
Hail, the Resurrection Thou!

King of glory, Soul of bliss!
Everlasting life is this,
Thee to know, Thy power to prove,
Thus to sing, and thus to love!

IN TEMPTATION

Jesu, lover of my soul,

Let me to Thy bosom fly, While the nearer waters roll,

While the tempest still is high! Hide me, O my Saviour, hide,

Till the storm of life is past, Safe into the haven guide;

O receive my soul at last!

Other refuge have I none;

Hangs my helpless soul on Thee; Leave, ah! leave me not alone,

Still support and comfort me! All my trust on Thee is stayed,

All my help from Thee I bring: Cover my defenceless head

With the shadow of Thy wing!

Wilt Thou not regard my call?
Wilt Thou not accept my prayer?
Lo! I sink, I faint, I fall!

Lo! on Thee I cast my care!