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Before him spread his various serinons lay,
Of explanation deep, and sage advice;
The fruit of learning bought with heavy price.
On these he cast a fond, but tearful eye,
Awhile he paus'd, for sorrow dimm'd his sight ; Arous'd at lengih, he heav'd a bitter sigh,
And thus complain'd, as well indeed he might:
* Hard is the scholar's lot, condemn'd to sail
“ Unpatroniz'd, o'er Life's tempestuous wave; « Clouds blind his sight; nor blows a friendly gale,.
- To waft him to one port-except the grave.
" Big with presumptive hope, I launch'd my keel,
“ With youthful ardour, and bright science fraught, “ Unanxious of the pains long doom'd to feel,
Unthinking that th' voyage might end in nought..
" Pleas'd on the summer sea, I danc'd awhile,
“ With gay companions, and, with views as fair;. "Outstripp'd by these, I'm left to humble toil,
"My fondest hope abandon'd in despair.
“ Had ny ambitious mind been led to rise
« To highest flights, to Crosier, and to Pall, “ Scarce could I mourn the missing of the prize,
" For soring wishes well deserve their fall.
" No tow'ring thoughts like these engag'd my breast.
“ I hop'd (nor blame, ye proud, the lowly plan) • Some litile cove, some parsonage of rest,
“ The scheme of duty. suited to the man:
" Where, in my narrow sphere secure, at ease,
“From vile dependence free, I might remain, “ The guide to good, the counsellor of peace,
" The friend, the shepherd, of the village swair.
“ Yet cruel Fate deny'd the small request,
“ And bound me fást, in one ill-unien'd hour, ,
" Oft as in russet weeds I scour along,
“In distant chapels hastily to pray, • By nod scarce notic'd to the passing throng,
"'Tis but the Curate, ev'ry child will say. “ Nor circumscrib'd in dignity alone,
“ Do I my rich superior's vassal ride; “ Sad penury, as was in cottage kown,
“With all its frowns, does o'er my roof preside.
“ Ab! not for me the harvest yields its store,
“ The bough-crown's shoek'in vain attraçts mine eye; “ To labour doum'd, and destin'd to be puor,
"I pass the field, I hope not envious, by. “ When at the altar, surplice-clad, I stand,
“ The bridegroom's joy draws forth the golden fee; “ The gift I take, but dare not close
hand; “The splendid present centres not in me."
THE DYING CHRISTIAN TO HIS SOUL.
VITAL spark of heav'nly flame!
Oh the pain, the bliss of dying!
Hark! they whisper; angels say,
Steals my senses, shuts my sight,
With sounds seraphic ring:
O Death! where is thy sting?
TO-MORROW, didst thou say!
They post to Heaven, and there record thy folly~-
the present instant, dear Horatio;.
THE CREATION REQUIRED TO PRAISE ITS.
Begin, my soul, th' exalted lay!
And praise th' Almighty's name:
To swell th' inspiring theme.
Ye fields of light, celestial plains,
Ye scenes divinely fair!
And breath'd the fluid air.
Ye angels catch the thrilling sound!
His boundless mercy sing:
And touch the sweetest string.,
Join, ye lond spheres, the vocal choir;
The mighty chorus aid:
And praise him in the shade.
Thou heav'n of hear'ns, his vast abode; Ye clouds, proclaim your forming God,
Who calld yon worlds from night: “Ye shades, dispel!”-th' Eternal said; At once th' involving darkness fled,
And Nature sprung to light.
Whate'er a blooming world contains,
United praise bestow;
Ye swelling deeps below.
To him who bids you'roll.: His praise in softer notes declare, Each whispering breeze of yielding air,
And breathe it to the soul.
To him, ye graceful cedars, bow;
great Tell, when affrighted Nature shook, How Sinai kindled at his look,
And trembled at his frown,