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When vice hath fhot its poifon'd dart,
And conscious guilt corrodes the heart:
His blood is all fufficient found,
To draw the fhaft, and heal the wound.
What arrows pierce fo deep as fin?
What venom gives fuch pain within?
Thou great Phyfician of the foul,
Rebuke my pangs, and make me whole.
Oh! If I truft thy fovereign skill,
With deep fubmiffion to thy will;
Sickness and death fhall both agree
To bring me, Lord, at laft to THEE.

CHARITY.

A Paraphrafe on the Thirteenth Chapter of the First Epifle to the Corinthians.

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ID fweeter founds adorn my flowing tongue
Than ever man pronounc'd, or Angel fung;
Had I all knowledge human and divine,
That thought can reach, or fcience can define;
And had I power to give that knowledge birth
In all the ípeeches of the babling earth;

Did Shadrach's zeal my glowing breast inspire,
To
weary tortures, and rejoice in fire;
Or had I faith like that which Ifrael faw,
When Mofes gave them miracles and law:
Yet, gracious CHARITY, indulgent guest,
Were not thy power exerted in my breaft,
Those speeches would fend up unheeded prayer,
That scorn of life would be but wild despair :
A cymbal's found were better than my voice:
My Faith were form: my eloquence were hoife.

CHARITY, decent, modest, easy, kind,
Softens the high, and rears the abject mind
Knows with juft reins, and gentle hand to guide,
Betwixt vile fhame, and arbitrary pride:
Not foon provok'd, fhe easily forgives,
And much she suffers, as the much believes :
Soft peace the brings, wherever the arrives,
She builds our quiet, as the forms our lives?

Lays

Lays the rough paths of peevish nature ev❜n,
And opens in each heart a little heav'n.

Each other gift which God on man bestows,
Its proper bound, and due reftriction knows :
To one fix'd purpose dedicates its pow'r,
And finishing its act, exifts no more.
Thus in obedience to what heaven decrees,
Knowledge fhall fail, and prophecy shall cease;
But lafting Charity's more ample sway,
Not bound by time, nor subject to decay,
In happy triumph fhall for ever live,

And endless good diffuse, and endless praise receive.
The UNKNOWN WORLD.

ARK my gay friend, that folemn toll
Speaks the departure of a foul :

'Tis gone, that's all we know not where, Or how th' unbody'd soul does fare.

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In that mysterious world none knows,
But God alone, to whom it goes;
To whom departed fouls return,
To take their doom, to smile, or mourn.

Oh! by what glimmering light we view
That unknown world we're haft'ning to!
God has lock'd up the mystic page,
And curtain'd darkness round the ftage!

Wife heav'n, to render fearch perplext,
Has drawn 'twixt this world and the next
A dark impenetrable screen,
All behind which is yet unfeen!

We talk of heav'n, we talk of hell;
But what they mean, no tongue can tell !
Heav'n is the realm where angels are,
And hell the chaos of despair.

But what these awful words imply, None of us know, before we die ! Whether we will or no, we must Take the fucceeding world on truft.

;

This hour, perhaps, our friend is well The next, we hear, his paffing-bell!

He

He dies! and then for aught we fee
Ceases at once to breathe and be.

Thus launch'd from life's ambiguous fhore,
Ingulph'd in death, appears no more,
Then, undirected, to repair

To diftant worlds we know not where.
Swift flies the foul; perhaps 'tis gone
A thousand leagues beyond the fun;
Or twice ten thousand more thrice told,
Ere the forfaken clay is cold!

And yet, who knows, if friends we lov'd,
Though dead, may be fo far remov'd?
Only this vail of flesh between,
-Perhaps they watch us, though unfeen.

Whilft we, their lofs lamenting, fay, "They're out of hearing, far away;" Guardians to us, perhaps they're near, Conceal'd in vehicles of air.

And yet no notices they give,
Nor tell us where, or how they live ;
Though confcious, whilft with us below,
How much themselves defir'd to know.

As if bound up by folemn fate, To keep this fecret of their ftate, To tell their joys or pains to none, That man may live by faith alone.

Well, let my fov'reign, if he please, Lock up his marvellous decrees; Why should I wish him to reveal What he thinks proper to conceal ?

It is enough that I believe
Heav'n's brighter far than we conceive :
And they who make it all their care
To ferve God here, fhall fee him there.

But oh what worlds fhall I furvey, The moment that I leave this clay ? How fudden the furprise! how new I Let it, my God, be happy too!

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A DIVINE PASTORAL.
From PSALM XXIII.

HE Lord is my fhepherd, my guardian and guide
Whatfoever I want he will kindly provide :
Ever fince I was born, it is he that hath crown'd
The life that he gave me with bleffings all round:
While yet on the breaft a poor infant I hung,
Ere time had unloofen'd the ftrings of my tongue,
He gave me the help which I could not then afk;
Now therefore to thank him fhall be my tongue's talk.

Thro' my tendereft years, with as tender à care, My foul, like a lamb, in his bofom he bare; To the brook he would lead me, whene'er I had need, And point out the pasture where beft I might feed: No harm could approach me'; for he was my fhield From the fowls of the air, and the beafts of the field; The wolf, to devour me, would oftentimes prowl, But the Lord was my fhepherd, and guarded my foul.

How oft, in my youth, have I wander'd aftray? And ftill he has brought me back to the right way! When, loft in dark error, no path I could meet, His word, like a lantern, has guided my feet : What wond'rous efcapes to his goodness I owe? When, rafh and unthinking, I fought my own woe: My foul bad, long fince, been gone down to the deep, If the Lord had not watched, when I was afleep.

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Whenfoe'er, at a distance, he fees me afraid, He flies o'er the mountains, and comes to my aid;Then leads me back gently, and bids me abide In the midft of his flock, and feed clofe by his fide: How fafe in his keeping, how happy and free, Could I always remain where he bids me to be! Yea bleft are the people, and happy thrice told, That obey the Lord's voice, and abide in his fold.. The fold it is full, and the pafture is green; All is friendship and love, and no enmity feen : There the Lord dwells, amongst us, upon his own hill; With the flocks all around him, awaiting his will ; Himself in the midft, with a provident eye Regarding our wants, and procuring fupply ; An abundance fprings up of each nourishing bud, And we gather his gifts, and are filled with good.

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At his voice, or, example, we move, or we flay
For the Lord is himfelf both our leader and way.
The hills fmoke with incenfe where er he hath trod,
And a facred perfume fhows the footsteps of God.
While bleft with his prefence, the valleys beneath
A fweet smelling favour inceffantly breathe:
The delight is renew'd of each fenfible thing;
And beheld in their bloom all the beauties of fpring:
Or, if a quite different fcene he prepare,

And we march thro' the wilderness, barren and bare;
By his wonderful works, we fee plainly enough,
That the earth is the Lord's, and the fulnefs thereof:
If we hunger, or thirst, and are ready to faint,
A relief in due feafon prevents our complaint;
The rain, at his word, brings us food from the sky,
And rocks become rivers when we are adry.

From the fruitfulleft hill to the barreneft rock,
The Lord hath made all for the good of his flock
And the flock, in return, the Lord always confefs
In plenty their joy, and their hope in diftrefs:
He beholds in our welfare his glory difplay'd,
And we find ourselves bleft in obedience repay'd;
With a chearful regard we attend to his ways;
Our attention is pray'r, and our chearfulness praife.

The Lord is my fhepherd; what then shall I fear? I What danger can frighten me whilst he is near 1 Not when the time calls me to walk thro' the vale Of the fhadow of death, fhall my heart ever fail, Tho' afraid, of myself, to pursue the dark way, Thy rod, and thy ftaff, be my comfort and ftay.; For I know, by thy guidance, when once it is paft, To a fountain of life it will bring me at laft.

The Lord is become my falvation and fong,
His bleffing fhall follow me all my life long !
Whatsoever condition he places me in,
I am fure 'tis the beft it could ever have been:
For the Lord he is good, and his mercies are fure
He only afflicts us in order to cure:
The Lord will I praise while I have any breath;
Be content all my life, and refign'd at my death.

Verfes

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