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Her veil opaque, discloses with a smite

The author os her beauties, who, retir'd

Behind his own creation,' works unseen

By the impure, and hears his pow'r denied.

Thou art the source and centre os all mindsj

Their only point os rest, Eternal Word!

From thee departing, they are lost, and rove

At random, without honour, hope or, peace,

From thee is all that soothes the lise os man.

His high endeavour, and his glad success,

His strength to suffer, and his will to serve,

But, oh! thou bounteous Giver os all Good,

Thou art os all thy gists thysels the crown!

Give what thou canst; without thee we are poor.

And with thee rich, take what thou wilt away.

EMPLOYMENT.

BY THE S4ME.

HOW various his employments, whom the world
Calls idle, and who justly, in return,
Esteems that busy world an idler too!
Friends, books, a garden, and perhaps his pen,
Delightsul industry enjoy'd at home,
And Nature in her cultivated trim

Dress'd to his taste inviting him abroad—

Can he want occupation who has these?

Will he be idle who has much t' enjoy?

Me, theresore, studious os laborious ease,

Not flothsul; happy to deceive the time*

Not waste it; and aware that human lise

Is but a loan to be repaid with use,

When he shall call his debtors to account,

From whom are all our blessings, business sind

Ev'n here. " While sedulous I seek t' improve,

At least neglect not, or leave uncmploy'd

The mind he gave; driving it, though flack

Too ost and much impeded in his work

By causes not to be divulg'd in vain,

To its just point—the service os mankind.

He that attends to his interior sels,

That has a heart and keeps it: has a mind

That hungers and supplies it; and who seeks

A social, not a dissipated lise,

Has business. Feels himsels engaged to atchieve

No unimportant, though a silent task.

A life all turbulence and noise may seem

To him that leads it wise, and to be prais'rf;

But wisdom is a pearl with most success

Sought in still water, ant) beneath clear skies.

He that is ever occupied in storms,

Or dives not sor it, or brings up instead,

Vainly industrious, a disgracesul prize.

ON

. SLAVERY.

BY TUE SAME.

OH sor a lodge in some vast wilderness,
Some boundless contiguity os shade,
Where rumour os oppression and deceit,
Os unsuccesssul and successsul war,
Might never reach me more. My ear is pain'd,
My soul is sick with every day's report
Os wrong and outrage with which earth is sill'd.
There is no flesh in man's obdurate heart,
It does nor seel sor man. The nat'ral bond
Os brotherhood is sever'd as the si>x
That s»lls asunder at the touch os sire.
He sinds his sellow guilty os a skin
Not celuur'd like his own; and having sower
T' insorce the wrong sor such a worthy cause,
Dooms and devotes him as his lawsul prey.
Lands intersected by a narrow srith
Abhor each other. Mountains interpos'd,
Make enemies os nations, who had else,
Like kindred drops, been mingl'd into one.
Thus man devotes his brother, and destroys;
And worse than all, and most to be deplor'd,
As human nature's, Brondeft, sou'est blot,
Chains him and talks him, and exrcts his sweat

With stripes, that Mercy with a bleeding heart

Weeps when she sees inflicted on a beast.

Then what is man? And what man seeing this,

And having human seelings, d«es not blush

And hang his head, to think himsels a man ?•

I would not have a flave to till my ground,

To carry me, to san me while I fleep,

And tremble when I wake, sor all the wealth

That sinews bought and sold have ever earn'd.

No; dear as sreedom is, and in my heart's

Just estimation priz'd above all price,

I had much rather be mysels the flave,

And wear the bonds, than sasten them on him;

We have no flaves at home—then why abroad?

And they themselves once serried o'er the wave

That parts us, are emancipate and loos'c.

Slaves cannot breathe in England, is their lungs

Receive the air, that moment they are sree,

They touch our country, and their shakles salt

That's noble, and bespeaks a nation proud

And jealous os the blessing. Spread it then,

And let it circulate through ev'ry vein,

Os all your empire. That where Britain's power

Is selt, mankind may seel her merey too.

DEATH.

A NIGHT PIECE,
BY PARNEL.

BY the blue taper's trembling light
No more I waste the wakesul night,
Intent with endless -view to pore
The schoolmen and the sages o'er:
Their books srom wisdom widely stray
Or point at best the longest way.
I'll seek a readier path, and go
Where wisdom's surely taught below.
How deep yon azure dies the sky!
Where orbs os gold benumber'd lie;
While through their ranks, in silver pride,
The nether crescent seems to glide
The slumbering breeze sorgets to breathe,
The lake is smooth and clear beneath,
Where once again the spangled show
Descends to meet our eyes below.
The grounds which on the right aspire
In dimness srom the view retire;
The lest presents a place os graves,
Whose wall the silent waters laves.
That steeple guides thy doubtsul sight
Among the lived gleams os night.

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