II.

If thou my darling flight forbid,
The muse folds up her wings:
Or at thy word her slender reed
Attempts almighty things.

III.

Her slender reed inspired by thee,
Bids a new Eden grow,
With blooming life on ev'ry tree
And spreads a heaven below.

IV.

She mocks the trumpet's loud alarms,
Fill'd with thy dreadful breath;
And calls th' angelic host to arms,
To give the nations death.

V.

But when she tastes her Saviour's love,
And feels the rapture strong,
Scarce the divinest harp above

Aims at a sweeter song.

Divine Judgment.

I.

TOT from the dust my sorrows spring,

NOT

Nor drop my comforts from the lower skies;
Let all the baneful planets shed

Their mingled curses on my head,

How vain their curses, if th' Eternal King
Look through the clouds and bless me with his eyes,
Creatures with all their boasted sway

Are but his slaves, and must obey;
They wait their orders from above;
And execute his word, the vengeance, or the love.

II.

'Tis by a warrant from his hand

The gentler gales are bound to sleep:
The north wind blusters and assumes command
Over the desart and the deep;

Old Boreas with his freezing pow'rs
Turns the earth iron, makes the ocean glass,
Arrests the dancing riv'lets as they pass,

And chains them moveless to their shores; The grazing ox, lows to the gelid skies,

Walks o'er the marble meads with withering eyes, Walks o'er the solid lakes, snuffs up the wind, and dies. III.

Fly to the polar world, my song,
And mourn the pilgrims there (a wretched throng!)
Seiz'd and bound in rigid chains

A troop of statues on the Russian plains,
And life stands frozen in the purple veins.
Atheist, forbear; no more blaspheme:
God has a thousand terrors in his name,
A thousand armies at command,
Waiting the signal of his hand,

And magazines of frost, and magazines of flame.
Dress thee in steel to meet his wrath;
His sharp artillery from the North

Shall pierce thee to the soul,and shake thy mortal frame.
Sublime on Winter's rugged wings

He rides in arms along the sky,
And scatters fate on swains and kings;

And flocks and herds, and nations die;
While impious lips profanely bold,

Grow pale; and quiv'ring at his dreadful cold,
Give their own blasphemies the lie.

IV.

The mischiefs that infest the earth,

When the dog-star fires the realms on high,

Drought and diseases, the cruel dearth,
Are but the flashes of the wrathful eye
From the incens'd Divinity.

In vain our parching palates thirst,
For vital food in vain we cry,
And pant for vital breath;

The verdant fields are burnt to dust.
The sun has drank the channels dry,
And all the air is death.
Ye scourges of our Maker's rod,
"Tis at his dread command, at his imperial nod
You deal your various plagues abroad.

V.

Hail, whirlwinds, hurricanes, and floods That all the leafy standards strip, And bear down with a mighty sweep The riches of the fields, and honours of the woods; Storms that ravage o'er the deep, And bury millions in the waves: Earthquakes, that in midnight-sleep

Turns cities into heaps,and makes our beds our graves; While you dispense your mortal harms,

'Tis the Creator's voice that sounds your loud alarms, When guilt with louder cries provokes a God to arms. VI.

O for a message from above

To bear my spirits up!

Some pledge of my Creator's love

To calm my terrors and support my hope!
Let waves and thunders mix and roar,

Be thou my GOD, and the whole world is mine;
While thou art Sovereign, I'm secure;

I shall be rich till thou art poor;

[thine. For all I fear, and all I wish, heaven, earth, and hell, are

Heaven and Earth.

I.

HAST thou not seen, impatient boy?

Hast thou not read the solemn truth,
That grey experience writes for giddy youth
On every mortal joy?
Pleasure must be dash'd with pain:
And yet with heedless haste,

The thirsty boy repeats the taste,

Nor hearkens to despair, but tries the bowl again. The rills of pleasure never run sincere; (Earth has no unpolluted spring)

From the curs'd soil; some dangerous taint they bear; So roses grow on thorns, and honey wears a sting.

II.

In vain we seek a heaven below the sky;
The world has false but flatt'ring charms;
Its distant joys show big in our esteem,
But lessen still as they draw near the eye;
In our embrace the visions die,
And when we grasp the airy forms
We loose the pleasing dream.

III.

Earth, with her scenes of gay delight,
Is but a landscape rudely drawn,
With glaring colours, and false light;
Distance commends it to the sight,
For fools to gaze upon;

But bring the nauseous daubing nigh,
Coarse and confus'd the hideous figures lie,
Dissolve the pleasure, and offend the eye.

IV.

Look up, my soul, point tow'rd th' eternal hills; Those heav'ns are fairer than they seem;

There pleasures all sincere glide on in chrystal rills, There not a dreg of guilt defiles,

Nor grief disturbs the stream. That Canaan knows no noxious thing, No cursed soil, no tainted spring, Nor roses grow on thorns, nor honey wears a sting,

Felicity Above.

I.

N

0,

bliss

'tis in vain to seek for For bliss can ne'er be found Till we arrive where JESUS is, And tread on heav'nly ground.

II.

There's nothing round these painted skies,
Or round his dusky clod;

Nothing, my soul, that's worth thy joys,
Or lovely as thy God.

III.

'Tis heaven on earth to taste his love,
To feel his quick'ning grace;
And all the heav'n I hope. above
Is but to see his face.

IV.

Why move my years in slow delay? .

O GOD of ages! why?

Let the spheres cleave, and mark my way
To the superior sky.