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Inviolate: and faithfully shall these
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the full account: not the least atom Embezzled, or millaid, of the whole tale ; Each foul shall have a body ready finish’d, And each shall have his own. Hence, ye profane, Ask not, how this can be ? Sure the same Pow'r That rear'd the piece at first, and took it down, Can reassemble the loose scatter'd parts, And put them as they were. Almighty God Has done much more; nor is his arm impair’d Thro' length of days, and what he can, he will: His faithfulness ftands bound to see it done. When the dread trumpet sounds, the slumb'ring dust, Not inattentive to the call, shall wake; And ev'ry joint poffefs its proper place With a new elegance of form, unknown To its first state. Nor shall the conscious soul Miftake its partner; but, amidst the crowd Singling its other half, into its arms Shall rush, with all th' impatience of a man

That's new come home,who, having long been ablent,
With hafte runs over ev'ry different room,
In pain to see the whole. Thrice happy meeting !
Nor time, nor death, shall ever part them more.
'Tis but a night, a long and moonless night,
We make the grave our bed, and then are gone,

Thus, at the shut of eve, the weary bird
Leaves the wide air, and in some lonely brake
Cow'rs down, and dozes till the dawn of day,
Then claps his well-fledg'd wings, and bears away.

E L E GY,

WRITTEN

IN A COUNTRY CHURCH YARD.

E L E GY,

WRITTEN

IN A COUNTRY CHURCH YARD.

BY MR. GRAY.

THE curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd winds flowly o'er the lea; The plowman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me.

Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight,
And all the air a solemn stillness holds,
Save where the beetle wheels his drony flight,
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds;

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