On, on; the task is easy now and light,
No steams of earth can here retard thy flight;
Thou need'st not now thy strokes renew;
"Tis but to spread thy pinions wide,
And thou with ease thy seat wilt view,
Drawn by the bent of the etherial tide.
"Tis so, I find; how sweetly on I move,"

Not lett by things below, and help'd by those above!

But see, to what new region am I come?
I know it well, it is my native home.
Here led I once a life divine,

Which did all good-no evil-know:

Ah! who would such sweet bliss resign For those vain shows which fools admire below? "Tis true; but don't of folly past complain,

But joy to see these blest abodes again.

A good retrieve. But, lo! while thus I speak,
With piercing rays th' eternal day does break;
The beauties of the face divine

Strike strongly on my feeble sight:

With what bright glories does it shine!

"Tis one immense and ever-flowing light. Stop here, my soul; thou canst not bear more bliss,

Nor can thy now rais'd palate ever relish less.

THE REPLY..

SINCE you desire of me to know

Who's the wise man, I'll tell

you

who:

Not he whose rich and fertile mind
Is by the culture of the arts refin'd;
Who, as the chaos of disorder'd thought,
By reason's light to form and method brought;
Who with a clear and piercing sight,

Can see through niceties as dark as night;
You err, if you think this is he,

Though seated on the top of the Porphyrian tree.

Nor is it he to whom kind Heaven

A secret cabala has given

To unriddle the mysterious text

Of nature, with dark comments more perplext;
Or to decipher her clean-writ and fair,
But most confounding, puzzling character;

That can through all her windings trace
This slippery wanderer, and unveil her face;
Her inmost mechanism view,

Anatomize each part, and see her through and through.

Nor he that does the science know,
Our only certainty below,

That can from problems dark and nice,
Deduce truths worthy of a sacrifice;
Nor he that can confess the stars and see
What's writ in the black leaves of destiny;
That knows their laws, and how the sun
His daily and his annual stage does run,
As if he did to them dispense

Their motions, and there sate supreme intelligence.

Nor is it he (although he boast

Of wisdom, and seem wise to most)

Yet 'tis not he whose busy pate
Can dive into the deep intrigues of state;
That can the great leviathan control,

Manage and rule't, as if he were its soul:
The wisest king thus gifted was,

And yet did not in these true wisdom place.
Who then is by the wise man meant?
He that can want all this, and yet can be content.

THE IMPATIENT.

WHAT envious laws are those of Fate, Which fix a gulf (bless'd souls) 'twixt us and you How 'twould refresh and cheer our mortal state, When our dejected looks confess The emptiness of earthly bliss,

Could we in this black night your brighter glories view.

Vain comfort, when I thus complain, To hear the wise and solemn gravely say,

Your grief and curiosity restrain;

Death will ere long this bar remove,

And bring you to the bless'd above;

Till then with this great prospect all your longings

stay.

But, ah, the joy peculiar here
Does from the greater excellence arise;
"Twill be worth nothing in an equal sphere.
Let me your noble converse have,

Bless'd spirits, on this side the grave--
I shall hereafter be as great as you, as wise.

Besides, when plung'd in bliss divine

I shall not taste, nor need this lesser joy.

What comfort then does from this prospect shine! 'Tis just as if in depth of night,

You rob a traveller of his light;

And promise to restore't when 'tis clear day.

SECOND CHAPTER OF THE CANTICLES.
VERSES 10-13.

"TWAS my beloved spake :

I know his charming voice; I heard him say,
Rise up, my love, my fairest one; awake,
Awake and come away.

The winter all is past,

And stormy winds that with such rudeness blew,? The heavens are no longer overcast,

But try to look like you.

The flowers their sweets display,

The birds in short preludiums tune their throat; The turtle in low murmurs does essay

Her melancholy note.

The fruitful vineyards make

An odorous smell, the fig looks fresh and gay:
Arise, my love, my fairest one; awake,

Awake and come away.

THE RESIGNATION.

LONG have I view'd, long have I thought, And held with trembling hand this bitter draught: 'Twas now just to my lips applied; Nature shrank in, and all my courage died. But now resolv'd and firm I'll be,

Since, Lord, 'tis mingled, and reach'd out by thee.

Since 'tis thy sentence I should part
With the most precious treasure of my heart,
I freely that and more resign;
My heart itself, as its delight, is thine;

My little all I give to thee—

Thou gav'st a greater gift, thy Son, to me.

He left true bliss and joys above,
Himself he emptied of all good, but love;
For me he freely did forsake

More good than he from me can ever take.
A mortal life for a divine

He took, and did at last even that resign.

Take all, great God, I will not grieve,
But still will wish that I had still to give.
I hear thy voice; thou bid'st me quit
My paradise, I bless and do submit.
I will not murmur at thy word,

Nor beg thy angel to sheath up his sword.