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( that I have endeavoured to express

"It is this Series of thought in the following Hymn, which I have composed during this

my o ness.

Sick

· I.
WHEN rising from the Bed of Death,

O'erujhelm'd with Guilt and Fear,
I see my Maker, Face to Face,
O how shall I appear!

II.
If yet, while Pardon may be found

And Mercy may be fought,
My Heart with inward Horror sprinks,
And trembles at the Thought;

III.
When thou, O Lord, shalt stand disclos’d

In Majesty severe,
And fit in Judgment on my Soul,
O bow fball I appear!

IV.
But thou hast told the troubled Mind,

Who does her Sins lament,
The timely Tribute of her Tears

Shall endless Woe prevent.

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V.'
Then see the Sorrows of my Heart,
Ere
yet

it be too late;
And hear my Saviour's dying Groans,
To give those Sorrows Weight.

VI.
For never shall my Soul despair

Her Pardon to procure,
Who knows thine only Son has dy'd
To make her Pardon fure.

THERE is a noble Hymn in (French, which Monsieur Bayle has ce

lebrated for a very fine one, and which " the famous Author of the Art of

Speaking calls an Admirable one, that turns upon a Thought of the fame na

If I could have done it Justice ' in English, I would have sent it you

translated; it was written by Mon' fieur Des Barreaux, who had been one

of the greatest Wits and Libertines in France, but in his last Years was as remarkable a Penitent.

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G
RAND Dieu, tes jugemens font remplis

d'equité;
Toimours tu prens plaifir e nous étre propice:
Mais j' ai tant fait de mal, que jamais ta bonté
Ne mie pardonnera, fans choquer ta Justice.

Oui, mon Dieu, la grandeur de mon impieté,
Ne laisse à ton pouvoir que le choix du supplice;
Ton interest s'oppose à ma felicité,
Et ta clencence même attend que je perife.
Contente ton defir, puisqu'ilt' est glorieux ;
offenfe toy des pleurs qui coulent de mes yeux;
Tonne, frappe, il est temps, rers moi guerre

pour guerre : Y'adore en periffaxet la raison qui t' aigrit, Mais desjus quel endroit tombera ton tonnerre, Qui ne soie tout couvert du sang de JESUS

CHRIST.

• IF these Thoughts may be service• able to you, I delire you would place

them in a proper Light, and am ever, with great Sincerity,

S IR, O

Yours, &c.

Monday,

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Me Parnasi deserta per ardua, dulcis Raptat Amor; juvat ire jugis qua nulla priorum Castaliam molli divertitur Orbita Clivo. Virg.

Mr. SPECTATOR,

Came home a little later

than usual the other Night, I

and not finding my felf inclined to sleep, I took up

Virgil to divert me till "I should be more disposed to rest. He • is the Author whom I always chufe « on such Occasions, no one writing in

fo divine, so harmonious, nor so equal Sa strain, which leaves the Mind com(posed, and softned into an agreeable • Melancholy; the Temper in which,

of all others, I chuse to close the Day. The Passages I turned to were

those beautiful Raptures in his Georgicks, where he profeffes himself entirely given up to the Muses, and smit

with the Love of Poetry, passionately ' wishing to be transported to the cool

Shades

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C Shades and Retirements of the Moun( tain Hemus. I clos'd the Book and

went to Bed. What I had just before been reading made so strong an Im

pression on my Mind, that Fancy « feemed almost to fulfil to me the Wish

of Virgil, in presenting to me the following Vision. 6 MĚTHOUGHT I was on a sudden placed in the Plains of Bæotia,

where at the end of the Horizon "I faw the Mountain Parnasus ri

sing before me. The Prospect was of so large an Extent, that I had long wander'd about to find a Path " which should directly lead me to it,

had I not seen at some distance a Grove

of Trees, which in a Plain that had ' nothing else remarkable enough in it

to fix my Sight, immediately determined me to go thither. When I arrived at it, I found it parted out into a great Number of Walks and Allys, which often widened into beautiful Openings, as Circles or Ovals,

set round with Yews and Cypresses, 6 with Niches, Grotto's, and Caves pla

ced on the fides, encompassed with Ivy. There was no Sound to be heard in the whole place, but only

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