One burst of filial duty and condolence,
O'er all the ample defarts death hath spread!
This chaos of mankind. O great man-eater!
Whofe ev'ry day is carnival, not fated yet!
Unheard of epicure! without a fellow!
The verieft gluttons do not always cram ;
Some intervals of abftinence are fought
To edge the appetite: thou seekest none.
Methinks the countless swarms thou haft devour'd,
And thousands that each hour thou gobbleft up,
This, less than this, might gorge thee to the full:
But, ah rapacious ftill, thou gap'ft for more;
Like one whole days defrauded of his meals,
On whom lank hunger lays his fkinny hand,
And whets to keeneft eagerness his cravings,
(As if diseases, maflacres, and poison,
Famine and war, were not thy caterers !)

But know, that thou must render up thy dead, And with high int'reft too! They are not thine,

But only in thy keeping for a season,

Till the great promis'd day of reftitution!
When loud diffufive founds from brazen trump
Of ftrong-lung'd cherubs fhall alarm thy captives,
And roufe the long, long fleepers into life.
Then must thy gates fly open, and reveal
The mines that long lay forming underground,
In their dark cells immur'd; but now full ripe,
And pure as filver from the crucible,

That twice has stood the torture of the fire

And inquifition of the forge. We know

Th' illuftrious deliv'rer of mankind,

The Son of GOD, once vanquish'd thee. His pow'r
Thou could'st not ftand: self-vigorous he rose,
And, shaking off thy fetters, foon retook
Those spoils his voluntary yielding lent.

(Sure pledge of our releasement from thy thrall;) Twice twenty days he fojourn d here on earth, And thew'd himself alive to chosen witnesses,

By proofs fo ftrong, that the most flow affenting Had not a fcruple left. This having done,

He mounted up to heav'n. Methinks I fee him Climb the aërial heights, and glide along

Across the fevering clouds: but the faint eye, Thrown backwards in the chase, soon drops its hold, Disabled quite, and jaded with pursuing.

Heaven's portals wide expand to let him in ;

Nor are his friends fhut out: as fome great prince Not for himself alone procures admiffion,

But for his train; it was his royal will,

That where HE is, there fhould his followers be.
Death only lies between ;-a gloomy path!
Made yet more gloomy by our coward fears!
But not untrod, nor tedious: the fatigue
Will foon go off. Befides, there's no by-road
To blifs. Then why, like ill-condition'd children,
Start we at tranfient hardships, in the way
That leads to purer air and softer fkies,
And a ne'er-fetting fun? Fools that we are!
We wish to be where fweets unfading bloom;
But ftraight our wish revoke, and will not go.

So have I feen upon a fummer's eve,

Close by the riv'let's brink, a youngster play:
How wifhfully he looks to ftem the tide,
This moment resolute, next unresolv’d:
At laft he dips his foot; but, as he dips,
His fears redouble, and he runs away
From th' inoffenfive ftream, unmindful now
Of all the flow'rs that paint the further bank,
And fmil'd fo fweet of late. Thrice welcome death!
That after many a painful bleeding step

Conducts us to our home, and lands us fafe

On the long wifh'd-for fhore. Prodigious change!
Our bane turn'd to a bleffing! Death difarm'd
Lofes his fellness quite. All thanks to HIM
Who fcourg'd the venom out. Sure the laft end
Of the good man is peace. How calm his exit !
The night-dews fall not gentlier to the ground,
Nor weary worn out winds expire so soft.
Behold him in the ev'ning-tide of life,-

A life well spent, whofe early care it was

His riper years fhould not upbraid his youth :
By unperceiv'd degrees he wears away;

Yet like the fun feems larger at his setting!
High in his faith and hopes, look how he strives
To gain the prize in view! and, like a bird
That's hamper'd, ftruggles hard to get away!
Whilft the glad gates of fight are wide expanded
To let new glories in, the firft fair fruits

Of the first coming harvest. Then ; oh then!
Each earth-born joy grows vile, or disappears,
Shrunk to a thing of nought. Oh! how he longs
To have his paffport sign'd, and be dismiss'd!
'Tis done

and now he's happy :-the glad foul

Has not a with uncrown'd. Ev'n the lag flesh

Refts too in hope of meeting once again

Its better half, never to funder more.

Nor fhall it hope in vain: the time draws on
When not a fingle fpot of burial earth,
Whether on land, or in the fpacious fea,
But muft give back its long committed duft