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No more your blandifhments my heart detain,
Beauty and pleasure make their court in vain ;
Objects divine and infinite in view,
Seize all my powers, ye fading toys, from you.
'Tis finifh'd now, the great deciding part!
The world's fubdu'd, and thou haft all my heart;
It triumphs in the change, it fixes here,
Nor needs another feparation fear.
No fatal chance thro' endless years fhall rife,
The series of my pleasures to surprise;
No various scenes to come, no change of place,
Shall e'er thy image from my foul efface;
Nor life, nor death, nor distant height above,
Nor depths below, fhall part me from thy love,
THE STATE OF OLD AGE.
HE feas are quiet when the winds give o'er, So calm are we when paffions rage no more; Clouds of affection from our younger eyes, Conceals that emptiness which time descries. The foul's dark cottage, batter'd and decay'd, Lets in new light thro' chinks that time has made. Stranger by weakness wiser men become,
As they draw nearer to their latest home.
Leaving the old, both worlds at once they view,
Who ftand upon the threshold of the new.
CHAP. VII. OF JOB, PARAPHRASED.
BY THE LATE MR. SAMUEL BOYSE.
AS not kind heaven, regarding human woe,
Set a fix'd period to our race below?
Known to th' All-wife is our uncertain stay,
And we, like hirelings, toil but by the day:
Then when the busy tedious dream is o'er,
We fink into the grave, and are no more.
And is then death our flumber? our repofe?
Oh! when shall death JOB's weary'd eye-lids close !
As with defiring eyes the harrafs'd fwain
Expects the evening-fhade to quit the plain;
So with impatience to the grave I bend,
And long to fee my numerous forrows end:
For crush'd, O LORD! beneath thy powerful arm,
What balm can cure my griefs? what music charm?
While in a thousand shapes thy wrath I know,
And feel a strange variety of woe!
When will my long protracted troubles cease?
And this tormented fufferer be at peace!
Each ling'ring night in agonies I lie,
And oft I wish, but wifh in vain, to die;
In filent woe I lengthen out the night,
Then curfe the gloom, and wait the dawning light:
The dawning light returns---but not to me,
And all but I its kindly aspect fee:
To me no friendly feasons e'er return,
Nor gives the evening ease, nor joy the morn.
With-hold at length thy wrath, and fet me free,
For what is JOB, O God! to ftrive with thee?
Than thought more fwift my fleeting moments passi
Confum'd, I wither as the fading grafs.
Remember, LORD, my tranfient life, like wind,
Blows off unseen, nor leaves a trace behind :'
Short as it is, why is it then oppreft,
Curft by that Being who once made it bleft?
Oh close the scene---and let my forrows ceafe,
Diffolve the chain, and frown me into peace!
Each evening yields the fun to fable night,
But every morn returns again as bright;
Within earth's lap the yearly feed is thrown,
And nature's bounteous hand repays the loan:
But man within the grave for ever lies,
Till nature's death permitted not to rife;
Till then forbid the fainteft glimpse of day,
Or re-afcend the long forgotten way;
No more indulg'd to fee the chearful light,
Or fweet viciffitudes of day and night:
Here look, vain men, and human greatness see,
Dust once ye were, and dust again must be !
Oh! why should tortur'd JOB his fighs refrain ?
Or fuffering thus, why should he not complain?
Allow him proftrate then to ask his God,
Why thus thou break'st this animated clod?
Why watcheft thou my fteps feverely juft?
And while I bend me groaning to the duft,
Forbid❜ft me one short interval of reft,
And emptieft all thy quiver in my breast!
In vain for reft I to my couch repair,
And hope in fleep to diffipate my care;
For there in awful vifions. I behold
My terrors heighten'd, and my hopes controul'd:
How can I then this wretched life fuftain,
When fleep, death's image, but augments my pain?
Oft when alone, and in the ev'ning shade,
I call for death-but call in vain for aid:
For thou unmov'd still lengthen'st out my pains,
And whom thy wrath torments, thy power fuftains.
Oh finish, gracious Lord! th' unequal strife,
And I to buy my peace will quit my life.
What did I fay of life?---that galling chain !
By thee afflicted, what is life but pain?
I would not live, nor bear the dreadful load
I fink, I faint, beneath thy chaft'ning rod!
Oh cease to urge what nature cannot bear!
Nor fill me thus with anguish and despair;
Withdraw thy cruel all-fupporting power!
And lo! I perish in that gracious hour!
Then humbly in thy fight I lay me down,
At once thy juftice and my crimes I own.
To thee for mercy and relief I come;
Oh take this late repenting rebel home.
Oh let thy pity ease and fet me free,
And give me in destruction reft to fee:
So fhall the voice of my complaining cease,
And JOB's last breath fhall blefs thee for his peace.
CHAP. III. OF JOB, TRANSLATED.
HUS JOB began-Curft be the fatal morn,
In which distinguish'd wretchedness was born!
From the fair round of the revolving year
Perish that day! nor let the night appear,
In which this wretched being first began
To fwell to mifery and promise man!
Let darkness stain it o'er, no friendly ray
Pierce thro' the gloom of that accursed day!
But shades of terror o'er its circuit spread,
And fold it in the mantle of the dead!
May all its stars with rays diminish'd show,
And thro' the dusky air obfcurely glow!
No glimpse of hope the dreadful scene adorn,
Nor let it fee the promise of a morn!-
Because it shut not up my mother's womb,
Nor join'd at once my cradle and my tomb:
Why dy'd I not? why did preventive care
My deftin❜d life for future forrows spare ?
Then had I found that ease I seek in vain,
Nor known this load of unexampled pain!
O grave! thou refuge of the foul diftreft !
When shall I fink into thy downy rest?
There kings and mighty ones neglected rot,
In their own mould'ring monuments forgot: