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“Shedied,”—the conscious, whispering winds reply,
And I (unhappy father!) faw her die!
I faw her die !-Can I the deed forgive?
How can I bear to fay I did-and live!
Tho' long her reason suffer'd an eclipse,
No finful word proceeded from her lips;
Tho' fore opprefs'd with agonizing pain,
She utter'd nothing indifcreet, or vain ;
Which gives me hopes her foul was wash'd from fin,
And grace abounding was at work within.
Whilft nature yet maintain❜d a doubtful strife,
And death fat brooding on the verge of life;
Even then-when all the hopes of life were fled,
I and the angels waiting round her bed,
(They to conduct her to the realms of day,
And I, to weep, to figh, to mourn, to pray)
I kifs'd her lips, I wip'd her dying face,
And took the father's and the nurse's place;
With bleeding heart I heard her dying groans,
And met with equal agony, her moans ;
Each figh was as a dagger in my heart,
We knew we must, but oh! were loth to part!
I mourn'd, I wept, I gave a loose to grief,
And had recourse to all things for relief;
But all in vain-the last effort I make,
I gave-but oh! she had not strength to take :
Her fluttering pulse with intermiffion play'd,
And then her heart its palpitation stay'd;
And thus thro' all the forms of death she past,
'Till with a figh fhe gently breath'd her last.
But who can paint the horror, or the power
Of nature's conflict in fo dark an hour?
The wound was fuch, that time can never heal,
No balm can cure it, and no art conceal.
May that fad day be banish'd from the year,
Or cloath'd in fable, if it muft appear!
Or, may the fun withdraw his beams at noon,
And folid darkness veil the ftars and moon!
May all the fands be ftagnant in the glafs,
And (as that hour returns) refuse to pass !
All clocks be dumb, and time forget to Ay,
And may all nature be as fad as I!
Let mourning in its blackest dress appear!
And she be never nam'd, without a tear!
Oh! where are now those dear obedient hands, So pleas'd to execute my whole commands? Where are those feet, fo early taught to run, As lightning fwift, unwearied as the fun? Where now thofe arms, that with fuch paffion ftrove To clafp my neck, and ftifle me with love? Where now thofe lips, where mine were fond to dwell, Or where that breath, that ravifh'd with the fmell? Where is that tongue, whofe prattle charm'd mine Where fled the hopes of my declining years? [ears? Where is that face, so pleasant when she smil'd? Or where's the woman acting in the child? Where those dear eyes, that with fuch fweetnefs fhone?
Or rather, where are all my comforts gone?
Where is that heart, fo near to truth allied,
That never disobey'd-but when she died?
Where is that breaft, where virtue once did grow,
As roses sweet, and white as falling fnow?
They're buried all in the voracious grave,
Where kings are levell'd with the meanest flave.
The wife and great, when there they make their bed,
Are equall'd with the wretch that begs his bread;
But there the wicked can no more oppress,
And there the weary find a calm recess;
And this does all my expectations crown,
That I to her fhall there go quickly down.
Till then, this hope fhall mitigate my woe,
And dry those tears that now profusely flow;
That when by heaven's command I quit the stage,
Bow'd down by time, and quite fatigued with age;
My bones fhall reft in quiet by her fide,
Like a fond bridegroom fleeping by his bride;
'Till the last day fhall both to life restore,
When death fhall die, and time shall be no more.
This distant view does equal pleasure give,
As now my foul is confcious that I live.
And thou that once waft my delight and pride,
In whom I hop'd to have a nurse and guide,
When feeble age should bow my hoary head,
And pain or fickness fix me to my bed;
If I may, guiltlefs, call upon thy name,
And ask a boon, without incurring blame;
Tho' thou art happy now amongst the bleft,
Indulge thy mourning father's last request.
When fome kind angel from this world below
Shall bring the news (for fure the angels know)
And fhall to thee and kindred spirits tell,
That mine has orders to forfake her fhell;
And be tranfplanted to the realms of light,
Where faith and hope are swallow'd up in fight;
Do thou with heavenly raptures meet my ghost,
On th' utmoft limits of that happy coaft;
And thence attend me to the throne of grace,
To view my Saviour's reconciled face;
And tafte of joys ineffable and new,
Till then, my little faint, adieu, adieu.
WRITTEN AFTER THE SHOCK OF AN EARTH
ET while we live, what gratitude we owe! God, tho' provok'd, with-holds the final blow; That dreadful fhock, which, felt thro' every vein, Shall back to chaos give this earth again. He warns us now, when, at the close of day, He bids the fky his fiery arch display; With deep convulfions makes the ocean boil, And rocks beneath our feet the trembling foil. As yet, paternal, he but shakes his rod, But who can bear th' inexorable GOD, When (fcorn'd his mercy) wearied with abuse, He quits the reins, and lets his fury loofe? Thro' space immense then discord will be hurl'd, And each convulfive fhock diffolve a WORLD.
T comes; the wish'd, the long expected morn-
Thou SON OF MAN, thou SON OF GOD, be born?
Lo, he defcends, and bows the yielding skies;
To meet him, the exulting valleys rife :
Death fhrinks and trembles, fearing to be flain;'
And all hell quakes, throughout its deep domain.
Yet comes he not, array'd in worldly show,
Nor in the weakness of man's power below:
In human flesh, his GODHEAD he conceals;
In human form, IMMENSITY he veils ;
Eternal, he affumes a mortal frame;
And, in fubjection, lo, the world's SUPREME!
'Tis come; the day of health, the faving morn→→→ THE SON OF GOD, THE BABE OF LOVE is born! Behold, all heaven defcends upon the wing, And choiring angels "Glory, Glory!" fing, "Glory to GOD, from whom fuch bounties flow! "And peace on earth, good-will to man below!"
"Tidings we bring, glad tidings of free grace, "Tidings of joy to all of human race! "The promis'd day is come, the great event"To you a child is born, a son is fent; "A Saviour, CHRIST, the lowly, the fupreme, "Gracious to pardon, mighty to redeem !