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The Dying Christian to his Soul.
ITAL spark of heav'nly flame !
Quit, oh quit this mortal frame:
Oh the pain, the bliss of dying !
Hark! they whisper ; Angels say,
fenfes, shuts my sight, Drowns my spirits, draws my
breath? Tell me, my Soul, can this be Death ?
NO TE S.
* This ode was written in imitation of the famous sonnet of Hadrian to his departing soul; but as much fuperior to his original, in sense and sublimity, as the Chriftian Religion is to the Pagan.
The world recedes ; it disappears !
With sounds feraphic ring :
O Death! where is thy Sțing?
FOUR EPIST LES
Est brevitate opus, ut currat fententia, neu se
THAT it is not sufficient for this knowledge to consider
Man in the Abstract: Books will not serve the purpose; nor yet our own Experience fingły, Ver. 1. Ge neral maxims, unless they be formed upon both, will be but notional, Ver. 10. Some Peculiarity in every man, characteristic to bimself, yet varying from himself, Ver. 15. Difficulties arising from our own Passions, Fancies, Faculties, &c. Ver. 31. The shortness of Life, to observe in, and the uncertainty of the Principles of action in men, to observe by, Ver. 37, &c. Our own Principle of action often hid from ourselves, Ver. 41. Some fere characters plain, but in general confounded, dissembled, or inconsistent, Ver. 51. The same man utterly different in different places and seaSons, Ver. 71. Unimaginable weaknesses in the greateft, Ver. 77, &c. Nothing conftant and certain but