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Knock! He knows the sinner's cry:
Weep! He loves the mourner's Tears:
Watch!-for, saving grace is nigh:
Wait,-till heavenly light appears."

“Hark! it is the bridegroom's voice:
Welcome, pilgrim, to thy rest;
Now within the gate rejoice,

Safe and seal'd and bought and blest!
Safe-from all the lures of vice,
Seal'd-by signs the chosen know,
Bought by love and life the price,
Blest-the mighty debt to owe.

"Holy pilgrim! what for thee,
In a world like this remain?
From thy guarded breast shall flee,
Fear and shame, and doubt and pain.
Fear-the hope of Heaven shall fly,
Shame from glory's view retire,
Doubt-in certain rapture die,
Pain-in endless bliss expire."

But though my day of grace was come,
Yet still my days of grief I find;
The former clouds' collected gloom,
Still sadden the reflecting mind;
The soul to evil things consign'd,
Will of their evil some retain;
The man will seem to earth inclin❜d,
And will not look erect again.

Thus, though elect, I feel it hard,
To lose what I possess'd before,
To be from all my wealth debarr'd,—
The brave Sir Eustace is no more;
But old I wax and passing poor,

Stern, rugged men my conduct view; They chide my wish, they bar my door, - 'Tis hard-I weep-you see I do.

Must you, my friends, no longer stay?
Thus quickly all my pleasures end?
But I'll remember, when I pray,

My kind physician and his friend; And those sad hours, you deign to spend With me, I shall requite them all;

Sir Eustace for his friends shall send, And thank their love at Greyling Hall.

VISITOR.

The poor Sir Eustace!-yet his hope,
Leads him to think of joys again;
And when his earthly visions droop,

His views of heavenly kind remain :But whence that meek and humble strain, That spirit wounded, lost, resign'd; Would not so proud a soul disdain

The madness of the poorest mind?

PHYSICIAN.

No! for the more he swell'd with pride,
The more he felt misfortune's blow;
Disgrace and grief he could not hide,
And poverty had laid him low:
Thus shame and sorrow working slow,
At length this humble spirit gave ;
Madness on these began to grow,

And bound him to his fiends a slave.

Though the wild thoughts had touch'd his brain,
Then was he free: So, forth he ran;

To soothe or threat, alike were vain;
He spake of fiends; look'd wild and wan;
Year after year, the hurried man

Obey'd those fiends from place to place;
Till his religious change began

To form a frenzied child of

grace.

For, as the fury lost its strength,

The mind repos'd; by slow degrees,

Came lingering Hope, and brought at length,
To the tormented spirit, Ease:

This slave of sin, whom fiends could seize,
Felt or believ'd their power had end;
""Tis faith," he cried, "my bosom frees,
And now my SAVIOUR is my friend."

But ah! though time can yield relief,
And soften woes it cannot cure;

Would we not suffer pain and grief,
To have our reason sound and sure?
Then let us keep our bosoms pure,
Our fancy's favourite flights suppress;
Prepare the body to endure,

And bend the mind to meet distress; And then his guardian care implore, Whom dæmons dread and men adore.

THE

HALL OF JUSTICE.

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