In fervice high, and anthems clear As may with fweetness, through mine ear, Diffolve me into ecftafies, And bring all heaven before mine eyes. And may at last my weary age THE MISER AND PLUTUS. A FABLE. ΒΥ GA r. THE wind was high, the window shakes, With fudden start the Mifer wakes; Along the filent room he ftalks, Looks back, and trembles as he walks. Each lock and ev'ry bolt he tries, In ev'ry creek and corner pries, Then opes the cheft with treafure ftor'd, But now, with fudden qualms poffeft, He wrings his hands, he beats his breaft; Had the deep earth her ftores confin'd, This heart had known fweet peace of mind; But virtue's fold. Good Gods! what price Can recompense the pangs of vice! O bane of good! feducing cheat! Can man, weak man, thy power defeat? Whence is this vile ungrateful rant, Each fordid rafcal's daily cant? Did I, bafe wretch! corrupt mankind? And pow'r (when lodg'd in their possession) Thus when the villain crams his cheft, A SACRED LYRIC. ON BEING WAKED IN THE NIGHT BY A VIOLENT STORM OF THUNDER AND LIGHTNING, LOCK'D in the arms of balmy sleep, From every care of day, As filent as the folded sheep, Sudden, tremendous thunders roll; Whate'er, O Lord! at this ftill hour, Grant me to bear with equal mind Alike to live or die. If, wak'd by thy vindictive hand, This mighty tempeft ftirs; That peal the voice of thy command; Welcome the bolt, where'er it fall Beneath the paffing fun; Thy righteous will determines all, And let that will be done. But if, as nature's laws ordain, Each bolt exerts its wide domain, Quick interpofe, all-gracious Lord, Arife! and be alike ador'd Vouchsafe, amidst this time of dread, O fhield from harm each friendly head, Let it not kill where riot foul Pours forth the drunken jeft; A while O fpare thofe finful breasts, Nor ftrike where fmiling virtue refts, Unconscious of the ftorm. R 3 |