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As when a fudden ftorm of hail and rain Beats to the ground the yet unbearded grain, Think not the hopes of harvest are destroy'd On the flat field, and on the naked void; The light, unloaded stem, from tempest freed, Will raise the youthful honors of his head; And foon reftor'd by native vigor, bear The timely product of the bounteous year. Nor yet conclude all fiery trials paft: For heaven will exercise us to the last; Sometimes will check us in our full career, With doubtful bleffings, and with mingled fear; That, still depending on his daily grace, His every mercy for an alms may pass, With sparing hands will diet us to good; Preventing furfeits of our pamper'd blood. So feeds the mother bird her craving young With little morfels, and delays them long. True, this last bleffing was a royal feast; But where's the wedding-garment on the guest? Our manners, as religion were a dream, Are fuch as teach the nations to blaspheme. In lufts we wallow, and with pride we fwell, And injuries with injuries repel;

Prompt to revenge, not daring to forgive,
Our lives unteach the doctrine we believe.
Thus Ifrael finn'd, impenitently hard,

And vainly thought the prefent ark their guard;
But when the haughty Philiftines appear,'
They fled, abandon'd to their foes and fear;
Their God was abfent, tho his ark was there.
Ah! left our crimes fhould fnatch this pledge away,
And make our joys the bleffings of a day!
For we have finn'd him hence, and that he lives,
God to his promife, not our practice gives.
Our crimes would foon weigh down the guilty
fcale,

But James and Mary, and the church prevail.
Nor Amalck can rout the chofen bands,
While Hur and Aaron hold up Mofes' hands.
By living well, let us fecure his days,
Moderate in hopes, and humble in our ways.
No force the free-born fpirit can constrain,
But charity, and great examples gain.
Forgiveness is our thanks for such a day.
'Tis god-like God in his own coin to pay

But you, propitious queen, tranflated here, From your mild heaven, to rule-ourrugged sphere, Beyond the funny walks, and circling year :

You, who

your native climate have bereft Of all the virtues, and the vices left;

Whom piety and beauty make their boast,
Tho beautiful is well in pious loft;
So loft as ftar-light is diffolv'd away,
And melts into the brightnefs of the day;
Or gold about the royal diadem,-
Loft to improve the luftre of the gem.
What can we add to your triumphant day ?
Let the great gift the beauteous giver pay.
For fhould our thanks awake the rising fun,
And lengthen, as his latest shadows run,

That tho the longest day would soon, too soon be done.

Let angels voices with their harps confpire,
But keep th' aufpicious infant from the choir
Late let him fing above, and let us know
No fweeter mufic than his cries below.

Nor can I wish to you, great monarch, more Than fuch an annual income to your

ftore;

The day which gave this unit, did not shine
For a lefs omen; than to fill the trine.

After a prince, an admiral beget;

The Royal Sov'reign wants an anchor yet.

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Our ifle has younger titles ftill in ftore,
And when th' exhaufted land can yield no more,
Your line can force them from a foreign shore.

The name of great your martial mind will fuit; But juftice is your darling attribute:

Of all the Greeks, 'twas but one hero's due,
And, in him, Plutarch prophefy'd of you.
A prince's favors but on few can fall,
But justice is a virtue fhar'd by all.

Some kings the name of conqu'rors have affum'd,

Some to be great, fome to be Gods presum'd ;
But boundless power, and arbitrary luft
Made tyrants still abhor the name of just;
They fhun'd the praise this godlike virtue gives,
And fear'd a title that reproach'd their lives.
The power, from which all kings derive their
ftate,

Whom they pretend, at least, to imitate,
Is equal both to punish and reward;

For few would love their God, unless they fear'd.
Refistless force and immortality

Make but a lame, imperfect, deity:
Tempefts have force unbounded to destroy,
And deathless being even the damn'd enjoy;

And yet heaven's attributes, both last and first,
One without life, and one with life accurft:
But justice is heaven's self, so strictly he,
That could it fail, the Godhead could not be.
This virtue is your own; but life and state
Are one to fortune fubject, one to fate :
Equal to all, you justly frown or smile;

Nor hopes nor fears your steady hand beguile;
Yourself our balance hold, the world's our ifle.

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