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If all the vaft immenfity of space

Is fill'd with beings of an endless race;

Or, if fome narrower bounds the work confine,
And why thus bounded love and power divine;
Whence the deep fhades of fin and forrow came,
And evil mingled with the general frame;
Why spread the dark dominions of the grave,
Or why I wish more virtue than I have.
These fecret things to none but thee are known,
Veil'd in the darkness that surrounds thy throne.
O! let my foul be still content to know
Thy love, thy wisdom, rules the world below.
Secure, my lot the bleffing or the rod,
To find a father where I trace the God:
While hope by thee permitted looks on high,
And, as her portion, meditates the fky.
Safe in the path which terminates above,
Secur'd from wandering, while I walk by love.-
O! brighter ftill illume the focial flame,
Thy fhining image! in my filial frame;
By juft gradation let my love afcend,
All elfe my neighbours, thou alone my friend.



EE manly grief! fee tears inceffant flow! See mournful forrow grace the SAVIOUR's brow! See matchlefs love in facred torrents fhine! And funeral honours paid with drops divine.


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HY tart! this case will thine be very soon,
In fome few years, perhaps the coming moon.
Life, at its utmoft length, is fcarce a breath,
And those who longest dream must wake in death.
Like thee, I once thought every blifs fecure,
And GOLD of every ill the certain cure;
Till plung'd in forrow, and befieg'd with pain,
Too late I found all earthly riches vain.
Disease made fruitless every fordid fee,

And death ftill anfwer'd-" What is GOLD to me?"
FAME, titles, honours, next I vainly fought,
And fools obfequious nurs'd each childifh thought.
Elate with brib'd applaufe, and purchas'd praise,
I built on endlefs grandeur, endless days:
Till death awoke me from my dream of pride,
And laid a prouder beggar by my fide.
PLEASURE I Courted, and indulg'd my tafte;
The banquet fmil'd, and fmil'd the gay repast.
A loathfome carcafe was my only care,

And worlds were ranfack'd but for me to fhare.
Go on, vain man! to luxury be firm,

Yet know thou feafteft but to feaft a worm.
Already, fure, lefs terrible I feem;

Like me, thou fure wilt own, that life's a dream.
Farewel! remember! nor my words defpife,
The only happy are the EARLY wife."



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COMMON theme a flattering mufe may fire, To raise our paffions, tho' fhe fung for hire; And may our praises or our pity steal,


By feigning transports, which fhe does not feel;
But when the fong from native love proceeds,
And paints the anguifh of a heart that bleeds;
The mourning mufe exerts superior skill,
And dips in tears th' inconfolable quill;
Our bofoms then with rifing forrows glow,
And grief spontaneous will from nature flow.

Ah! what is life, that thoughtless wifh of all?
A drop of honey, in a draught of gall;
A half existence, or a waking dream,
A bitter fountain, with a muddy ftream;
A tale, a fhadow, a delufive found,

That's loft with mourning, and with forrow found;
A fading landfcape, painted upon clay,

The fource of care, and idol of a day;

'The fweet deluder of a reftlefs mind,

Which, if 'twas loft, how few would with to find!


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Untimely thus, the infant-budding rofe,


By fome rude hand is cropt before it blows;

Away the little foul of fragrance flies,
And blooming beauty unregarded dies;
Snatch'd from the parent ftem where once it grew,
Embalm'd in odours, and the morning dew.

Can I be dumb, when love and nature cries,
And I have loft the darling of my eyes?
Tho' 'tis in vain to wish for her return,
Yet all the ties of nature bid me mourn.
If thou canst still the unrelenting sea,
And make the jarring elements agree;
Or cause the tide to cease to ebb and flow,

Or hinder the defcent of hail and fnow;
If thou canst ftop the thunder's dreadful roar,
Or caufe the billows not to lafh the fhore;
If thou canst lull a hurricane to fleep,
Then may thy words perfuade me not to weep.
O! give me leave but to lament her fall,
As David mourn'd for Jonathan and Saul;
When on mount Gilboa (O unhappy day!)
They to Philiftia fell a fhameful prey:
Or (if it may with innocence be done)
As he lamented Abfalom his fon
When in the anguifh of his foul he cried,
"Would God, my fon, I in thy place had died!"
Then lend your aid (if any fùch there be,
That lov'd a child, or mourn for one like me)
Let your kind fighs with me in concert join,
And add your sympathizing tears to mine,

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That may in ftreams to fwelling rivers flow,
Until thofe rivers to a deluge grow.


But if there's none commiferates my
And in no breast compaffion finds a place,
Let not your cenfures add to my concern,
Nor flight the cause that moves me thus to mourn.
If you are void of trouble, free from`pain,
Add not to mine, nor wonder I complain.
I know the ftroke is from the hand divine,
To whom I may complain; tho' not repine.
Tho' I deplore my lofs, and wifh it lefs,
Yet I will kifs the rod, and acquiefce;
A Saviour's blood fhall fuperfede my fears,
And love paternal justify my tears.

When death at first befieg'd this little fort,
The feeble outworks were the tyrant's fport;
A fever made the firft attack in form,
And then convulfions took it foon by ftorm.
Succours without were weak, like thofe within,
The guards were fickly, and the walls were thin;
In bad repair the gates and citadel,

And then no wonder that fo foon it fell
Death's icy hands the lovely fabric spoil'd,
He got a victim, but I loft my child.-

Five mournful days with trembling hand and heart,
I play'd the whole artillery of art;
Five nights I past in forrow, like the day,
And almoft mourn'd my own fad life away;
But when the moft, that art could do, was tried,
Her leafe of life was cancell'd, and fhe died:--



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