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How each would trembling wait the mournful sheet,
On which the press might stamp him next to die;
And, reading here his sentence, how replete
With anxious meaning, Heav'nward turn his ey

Time then would seem more precious than the joys,
In which he sports away the treasure now;
And pray’r more seasonable than the noise
Of drunkards, or the music-drawing bow.

Then doubtless many a trifler, on the brink
Of this world's hazardous and headlong shore,
Forc'd to a pause, would feel it good to think,
Told that his setting sun must rise no more.

Ah self-deceiv'd! Could I prophetic say
Who next is fated, and who next to fall,
The rest might then seem privileg'd to play;
But, naming none, the Voice now speaks to ALL.

Observe the dappled foresters, how light
They bound and airy o'er the sunny glade-
One falls--the rest, wide-scatter'd with affright,
Vanish at once into the darkest shade.


Had we their wisdom, should we, often warn'd,
Still need repeated warnings, and at last,
A thousand awful admonitions scorn'd,
Die self-accus'd of life run all to waste?

Sad waste! for which no after-thrift atones.

admits no cure for guilt or sin; Dew-drops may deck the turf, that hides the bones, But tears of godly grief ne'er flow within.

Learn then, ye living! by the mouths be taught
Of all these sepulchres, instructors true,
That, soon or late, death also is your lot,
And the next op'ning grave may yawn for you.



-Placidaque ibi demum morte quievit. VIRG
There calm at length he breath'd his soul away.

“O most delightful hour by man

Experienc'd here below, • The hour that terminates his span,

“ His folly, and his wo!

• Worlds should not bribe me back to tread

“ Again life's dreary waste, “ To see again my day o'erspread

“ With all the gloomy past.

My home henceforth is in the skies,

Earth, seas, and sun adieu! • All Heav'n unfolded to my eyes,

“ I have no sight for you.”

So spake Aspasio, firm possess'd

Of faith's supporting rod,
Then breathed his soul into it's rest

The bosom of his God.

He was a man among the few

Sincere on virtue's side; And all his strength from Scripture drew

To hourly use applied.

That rule he priz'd, by that he fear'd,

He hated, hop'd, and lov'd;
Nor ever frown'd, or sad appear d,

But when his heart had rov'd.

For he was frail, as thou or I,

And evil felt within:
But, when he felt it, heav'd a sigh,

And loath'd the thought of sin.

Such liv’d Aspasio; and at last

Call'd up from Earth to Heav'n, The gulf of death triumphant pass'd

By gales of blessing driv'n.

His joys be mine, each Reader cries,

When my last hour arrives:
They shall be yours, my Verse replies,

Such only be your lives.



Ne commonentem recta sperne.


Despise not my good counsel.

He who sits from day to day,

Where the prison'd lark is hung, Heedless of his loudest lay,

Hardly knows that he has sung.

Where the watchman in his round

Nightly lifts his voice on high, None, accustom'd to the sound,

Wakes the sooner for his cry.

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