Yet gave me, in this dark Eftate,
To see the Good from Ill;
And binding Nature fast in Fate,
Left free the Human Will.
What Confcience dictates to be done,

Or warns me not to do,

This, teach me more than Hell to fhun,
That, more than Heav'n pursue.
What Bleffings thy free Bounty gives,
Let me not cast away;

For God is paid when Man receives,
T'enjoy is to obey.

Yet not to Earth's contracted Span
Thy Goodness let me bound,
Or think Thee Lord alone of Man,
When thousand Worlds are round:

Let not this weak unknowing hand
Presume thy bolts to throw,
And deal damnation round the land,
On each I judge thy Foe.

COMMENTARY.

confidence full of Hope and Immortality. To give all this the greater weight, the Poet chofe for his model the LORD's PRAYER, which, of all others, beft deferves the title prefixed to his Paraphrafe.

If I am right, thy grace impart,
Still in the right to stay;
If I am wrong, oh teach my heart
To find that better way.

Save me alike from foolish Pride,
Or impious Difcontent,

At aught thy wisdom has deny'd,
Or aught thy Goodness lent.
Teach me to feel another's Woe,
To hide the Fault I fee;
That Mercy I to others show,

That Mercy show to me.
Mean tho' I am, not wholly fo
Since quicken'd by thy Breath;

Oh lead me wherefoe'er I

go,

Thro' this day's Life or Death.

NOTES.

If I am right, thy grace impart,-
If I am wrong, O teach my heart]

As the imparting of grace, on the Chriftian fyftem, is a stronger exertion of the Divine Power than the natural illumination of the heart, one would expect that right and wrong should change places; more aid being required to restore men to right, than to kee them in it. But as it was the Poet's purpose to infinuate that Revelation was the right, nothing could better express his purpose, than making the right secured by the guards of grace.

8

This day, be Bread and Peace my Lot:
All elfe beneath the Sun,

Thou know'ft if beft beftow'd or not,
And let Thy Will be done.

To thee, whofe Temple is all Space,
Whofe Altar, Earth, Sea, Skies!
One Chorus let all Being raise!
All Nature's Incense rife!

The Dying Chriftian to his SOUL.

ODE *.

1.

V

ITAL fpark of heav'nly flame!
Quit, oh quit this mortal frame :
Trembling, hoping, ling'ring, flying;
Oh the pain, the bliss of dying!
Cease, fond Nature, cease thy ftrife,
And let me languish into life.

II.

Hark! they whisper; Angels fay,
Sifter Spirit, come away.
What is this absorbs me quite ?

Steals my fenfes, shuts my fight, Drowns my spirits, draws my breath? Tell me, my Soul, can this be Death?

NOTES.

* This ode was written in imitation of the famous fonnet of Hadrian to his departing foul; but as much fuperior to his original, in fenfe and fublimity, as the Chriftian Religion is to the Pagan.

VOL. III.

P

III.

The world recedes; it disappears!
Heav'n opens on my eyes! my ears
With founds feraphic ring;
Lend, lend your wings! I mount! I fly!
O Grave! where is thy Victory?
O Death! where is thy Sting?