The Life and Poetical Works of James Woodhouse :: :: University of Virginia Library

Our Hero's plaintive strains, and piteous tale,
Had struck the pensive Poet of the vale;
Who wish'd to help, but had not wherewithal,
For Heav'n's kind sprinklings were, with Him, but small,
And those, like morning mists, or dews, or dreams,
Soon fled before bright Fancy's fervid beams;
Or transient summer show'rs, on sandy waste,
All soon absorb'd by ever-thirsty Taste!
What could he do? he kindly recommends
The humble Bard to better-fortun'd Friends;
Extols his virtues—tunes his rustic lays—
And tries to trim his brow with sprigs of bays—
To give his Muse a help, his miseries ease,
To pay, with profit—with fair fame to please.

His warm endeavours met their wish'd-for meed;
Hush'd present plaints—new-tun'd his rustic reed—
Flush'd with fresh joys he view'd fair Daphne's charms,
And clasp'd her beauties in his eager arms—
With pristine fondness each lov'd Infant press'd,
With like embraces, to his labouring breast;
And, while warm raptures trembled on his tongue,
These glowing strains flowed forth, in grateful song.

GENERAL REFLECTIONS.

Had I but Wealth, my Charity should shine
In pure Benevolence and deeds of Love divine!
My gratitude to God should fully flow,
To chear hearts press'd with Poverty and Woe!
That glorious Being's far above my reach,
To help, or hurt, by acts, or pow'rs of speech;
But suffering fellow-creatures oft should share
A portion of my Wealth, with fervent pray'r!
And, still, 'mid wants, and woes, and pains, partake
Such gracious offerings for the Giver's sake!
His Love intrusts large loans to Stewards, here,
To calm poor Neighbours plaints, and stifle fear;
For clear accounts must state each talent lent,
By Heav'n's blest usury rais'd, or basely spent—
And each unfaithful Churl be sternly chid,
Whose delegated gifts are, idly, hid!

Had I but Wealth! his kindling Soul would say,
And struck the rythmic Lyre in loftier key.
Had I but Wealth, I'd rear no sumptuous Dome,
Mind's mausoleum! blind Ambition's home!
Mere lifeless monument of Pride, and Lust!
Fixing dull Spirit fluttering in the dust!
Plucks Faith's fair pinions! fetters heavenly Hope!
Contracts celestial Love's unbounded scope!
Makes Pride and Passion's dire deliriums, rave,
Thro' dread of Death, and horror of the Grave!
Binds weak Beneficence within those walls,
And shuts out each kind sound, but selfish calls!
Imprisoning every Virtue Heav'n design'd
To benefit Self more, and bless Mankind!
While fix'd in filth white-rob'd Religion lies,
Confin'd from all pure commerce with the Skies!

I'd crowd no pompous paintings round my rooms,
Trite flags of Fortune! Pluto's trumpery plumes!
Expensive Caricatures! belying Life;
Where Art and Nature wage continual strife!
Poor joyless puffs of genealogic pride!
Frail Air-balloons! where Fools and Frantics ride!
Compos'd of strings, and ties, and silken skin,
Gross paint without, and gas, or fire, within;
Till with fierce burst, or flaming bag, they fall,
Then, mixt with common earth relinquish all!

No frippery furniture should vainly veil
My whited walls, or mark my wealthy weal!
No gaudier garments mix their gilded glare,
To make the starving vex, or vulgar stare!
Nor flash, o'er Christian's face, cold, costly, flame,
To tinge their features with shy flush of shame!

No brilliant Lights, and Lamps, spread blended blaze,
Nor splendid Mirrors mock full Phebe's rays;
Lustres, nor sparkling Girandoles, conspire
To fill sharp Envy's eye with shafts of fire
No princely Equipage, with painted crests,
Shine proud pre-eminence o'er grudging Guests;

Or coated Covers rank'd, in cheating state,
With courtly lies proclaiming all as plate—
Which, like their Owner's outside, silvery, smile,
Unwitting Worth's blind ignorance beguile;
Or painted sepulchre's deceptive show,
Hide rank corruption, and base things below!

In clamorous Coach I'd roll no headlong race,
To hunt choice Nothings in fool Fashion's chace;
Like dizzy whirlwinds, rushing, daily, round,
To grasp at emptiness, or seize a sound—
In every street, at every threshold, seen,
With eager eye, and maddening air and mien—
Doubt creeping close behind, tho' Hope's before,
Lest Friends prove absent, or Foes bar the door—
And while Enjoyment seems for ever near,
Blank Disappointment still brings up the rear!

No badg'd and liveried Slaves should strut in State—
No growling Porter bolt forbidding Gate—
Nor foul deceit, in dizen'd form, attend
To stop the visits of a virtuous Friend!
No pimps, round tables, ply their simpering trade,
Expensive cyphers of profuse parade!
To fawn, or flutter! to insult, or sneak;
And watch each word Simplicity might speak,
About their jovial board, then turn to joke
Whate'er pure Piety, or Wisdom, spoke;
Repeating round with multiplying tongue
What gross, rash, ignorant, Folly fancies wrong—
Perverting all, thro' captiousness, or spite,
Which Reason, Sense, and Conscience construe right!
Frail Fashion's drudges! dupes of Indolence!
Dabblers in learning! Scavengers of Sense!
Pretenders, vile, to Virtue, Wit, or Taste!
Harpies for foulness, greediness, and waste!
Audacious Dastards! Ostentation's Imps!
Purloiners—Liars—Parasites—and Pimps!
Light shuttlecocks of Pride! prompt Slaves of Spleen!
Hope oils, or Fear winds up, each mere Machine!
Dull Sloth's, and Luxury's Dupes! mock Men of stone!
Ne'er more in useful lists of Labour known!
Academies, and Marts, for every Vice!
Where Liberty, when sold, yields paltry price;
And Tutors—Ushers—Scholars—in such Schools,
Of Ridicule, and Rage, all, mutual, Tools!
Where scampering Vanity, of Care devoid,
Runs endless rounds, for Folly, Pomp, and Pride!
And blushless Impudence, pert—bold—and blind;
Drives ev'ry Virtue far from ev'ry Mind;
While Vice pervades, Passion perverts the Whole,
Blasting all hopes that sublimate the Soul!

Ne'er at my Board should Sycophants be found,
With flattery's fibbs to waft my Fame around;
Nor, mix'd in social circles, calmly, sit,
To praise my Wisdom, and applaud my Wit—
To bow, or chuckle, at each childish hint,
While changing scoffs, with other Cheats, asquint.

I'd court no Fops, or mercenary Friends,
Who show sham favours for some selfish ends;
Nor covet vain Acquaintances increas'd,
To purchase Flattery's puff, with princely feast;
Where Luxury wastes much more, in prompt expence,
Than Law's demands for Liberty's defence;
To vamp up Vanity—give Dupes delight,
Impairing health while pampering Appetite!
Each guest still guilty of slow suicide,
For Fashion—Custom—Folly—Pomp—and Pride—
While Emulation tries ten thousand pranks,
To cover scorn and spite, by praise and thanks;
Indulging Sins no Luxury long will save
But hasten earlier to the glutton grave!

I'd ne'er frequent weak Ostentation's haunts,
Where Affectation flirts, and Folly flaunts—
Where proud Ambition's most sublime intents,
Are, flattering praise, and fulsome compliments—
Much less mad Scenes of Dissipation seek,
Which taint the Saint, but tinge not Sinners' cheek—
Where Mind, immortal! can, at best, obtain
But sights of Sin, and hear polluted strain!
Far from such vortices of Vice I'd fly,
Which yield no holy Love, or genuine Joy,
But plunge the Spirit in deep, dark, abyss,
Void of all peace! all hopes of future bliss!
Where Conscience feels, alone, consuming fires,
From dread of Death, and unsubdued Desires!

I'd force no flattery, deckt with regal dress,
Which weakens Friendship—makes Affection less!
Clothe not that Breast with burnish'd golden garb;
Where Fate so soon will fix its fatal barb,
Nor trim that Flesh with flaunting garments, gay,
Which Death will shortly doom vile reptiles prey!
Ne'er idolize curl'd locks, or comely face,
Which Age—Disease—or Sin, will soon disgrace;

Nor shape fine features insolently proud,
Which soon, each sight shall shock, in frightful shroud!
Ne'er throne that Frame in clamorous gilded Coach,
To prompt high greetings, like a God's approach;
Which soon must suffer Vanity's reverse,
The transient tenant of hir'd, common Herse—
Nor lay these Limbs on rich embroider'd Bed,
With which the famish'd Worm will soon be fed;
Closed in a narrow, noisome hole of Earth,
Embracing dust produc'd from humblest Birth!

Had I but Wealth, he'd add, with lucid smile,
While strong emotion stopp'd a moment's toil;
Gazing, afresh, on Daphne's glowing face,
And clasping every Babe with warm embrace—
I'd ne'er exclude Misfortune's trembling claim,
For aggrandizing Thee, my dearest Dame!
Nor shut out Misery's moan, or Penury's plea,
Thro' fondness, Child, for Thee! for Thee! for Thee!
Yet hoard a fund for Thee, my faithful Wife,
To fence from want thro' all remains of Life;
To free thy Heart from ev'ry anxious fear
And furnish every comfort Life holds dear!
Not suffering Thee, my fond, my beauteous, Bride!
To court a favour from imperious Pride—
Nor drive one Offspring poor, and destitute,
To beg an alms of any human Brute;
But yielding each a competent support,
To spurn dependence—shun a shameless Court!
Yet, tho' above proud Man's, or Woman's, nod,
Not spurning Parents, or forgetting God;
But still His Grace to beg—His Goodness bless,
For all they hope, and all they e'er possess—
Without whose Kindness all stands insecure
No Competence can last! no Life endure!
No health—strength—peace—joy—comfort—or content,
To praise that Pow'r, which all, as loans, hath lent!

Had I but Wealth, I'd crown my earthly lot
With searching each sad Cell, or cribbing Cot,
To scatter blessings from Christ's bounteous Store
Till I, myself, should want that Wealth no more.
Fill genuine Joy's most ample measure up,
Decanting comforts in each empty cup!
Pour chearing Spirits, tenderly distill'd,
In vessels, which, before, but half were fill'd!
Search round for those that secretly repine,
Yet scorn to murmur much o'er Life like mine;
Nor wish to win, by stratagem, or stealth,
One single grain from other's Worth, or Wealth!
Seek those that silent pine by lack of bread,
And, o'er my plenty, shake their pensive head!
Count my great wealth—but ne'er their God condemn—
Nor question why, thus, Heav'n witheld from them!
By Famine starv'd, yet stopp'd by painful fears—
Stretch looks afar, confus'd, by misty tears;
Beholding nothing, thro' the welkin wide,
But vacant blanks—a dark and dreary void!
Where nought's perceiv'd o'er all the vacant view,
But troubles, toils, and dire disasters, new!
Sickness and need! labour and carking care!
Each budding Hope still blasted by Despair!
No prospect, pains and sorrows to asswage,
'Midst dire approaches of decrepit Age;
When down to Life's last rags weak Manhood's worn;
All cold indifference—dearth—contempt—and scorn!
A ghastly gloom! replete with want and woe—
Then rear their eyes to Heav'n, and wonder why 'tis so!

I'd stop complaining—still restrain its pow'r—
To each sad Sufferer dealing bounteous dow'r!
The monster Misery, in its cradle, crush;
To strengthen Fortitude and Fear to hush—
Wake every Energy—rouze every Hope—
And yield fair Expectation fuller scope.
Still nerving Strength, and lightening Cares and Toils;
O'er Sorrow's furrows raising crops of smiles;
While happier prospects with full pow'r, impart
Fresh peace, and comforts, to each fluttering heart!
No dread of need, or health and labour's loss,
Should Duty's calls, and Nature's cravings, cross—
No keen remorse disturb connubial bed,
Lest living gifts of God should beg for bread.
No plaints o'er teeming Spouse, and steril purse,
Should show their growing groups a cruel curse!
Prolific Parents feel no false disgrace,
O'er weak, repining, squalid, ragged, Race,
Or Celibacy's barren Monsters meet
More praise, or profit in their loathed retreat,
While dead Neglect would aid, and hope, deny
The friends of offspring, and gregarious joy;
Whose due endeavours faithfully fulfil
The blest behests of Heav'n's rewarding Will!

No neighbouring, humble, habitable Cell
Where patient Industry, and Penury, dwell;

Nor neat inclosures of lov'd garden-ground,
Where countless comforts rise, successive, round,
Should suffer sequestration, or decay,
Becoming Time's, or petty Tyrant's prey!
I'd build new Cottages, or old repair,
As patrimonial prize for humble Heir—
Inclose uncultur'd slips of sloven soil,
To stir up thought, and strength, to thrifty toil!
Dispense small portions, in prudential mode,
To lighten toil of half its cumb'rous load—
Still strengthening willing wedlock's blissful bands,
For Heav'n, and Earth, increasing hearts, and hands!
No poor impassion'd Nymph, or sighing Swain,
Should live and love, and drudge and delve in vain!
But manly Youth, and joyous Maiden, join,
In plighted troth, before Heav'n's holy shrine;
To propagate a strong, laborious, breed,
And furnish future times with useful seed:
Not suffering starving troops, and weeping Wife,
To sink beneath sad wants, and woes, of Life;
Nor hopeless Husband, sunk in griefs, forego
The highest sensual bliss of Souls below.
New hopes, new views, should cherish chaste desires,
From full-replenish'd pots, and well-fed fires;
At fond return from labour's wearying length,
To chear their tables, and renew their strength.
No thatchless roofs, nor unglaz'd windows, grin,
To let all hostile winds, and weather, in;
But sheltering sheds to skreen from stormy strife,
Protecting needful rest, and lengthening Life.
No harden'd heaps of stinking straw be spread
To numb the weary loins, and aching head,
But bolster'd mattrass, sheets, and coverings, clean,
To sweeten sleep, nor wound the Soul when seen.
No rotten rags such useful frames should fold,
To taint the breeze, and catch the passing cold;
Nor cloaths to cramp, or load, each cumber'd limb,
To gratify some vain or vicious whim—
To shame their sight, or simple shape deform,
But reputable raiment, neat, and warm;
All clean, to deck Heav'n's courts, on holy day,
Their due devoirs, with penitence, to pay;
To tune the thankful strain, and bend the knee,
In gratitude, to God, for giving Me!

Humanity should spend, but Wisdom spare,
To heighten effort, and encourage care.
Economy should fence, and clothe, and feed;
No Modesty should mope, nor Labour bleed;
But, like the Sun, Beneficence go forth,
To bless due Industry and humble Worth—
Thro' each dark cell dispensing life, and light,
O'er Penury's need, and Ignorance's night.
To thaw benumbing Hunger's nipping pow'rs,
By fostering Infancy in helpless hours—
To dissipate the mist Youth's morning shrouds—
Still each harsh storm of Manhood's mid-day clouds—
Dispel autumnal fogs, and gloomy fears,
That blind, or batter, Want, in waning Years;
And wintry darkness chear, and check the cold,
With gladdening warmth, when Labour's limbs grow old!
Should drive the damps of Indolence and Sloth,
To give true Diligence its largest growth;
Rejoicing, like a Giant in his course,
To urge on Energy, with fullest force—
Prudence, with keen, discriminating, view,
Should help all right intent, and conduct, through;
Yet every desperate character discard,
That Merit might enjoy more just reward!

Hence springs the Heart's disinterested joy;
The constant Luxury, that can never cloy!
The Clothing that will keep pure Spirit warm!
A Building that will brave the strongest Storm—
A Sun that ever shines, with reflex rays—
Expense that must command all Christians' praise—
A Rain whose drops return to Heav'n agen,
In grateful vapours rais'd by gracious Men—
Benevolence that Angels' breasts might move—
A blest profuseness Heav'n itself approve!

Unchristian Minds may mock such prompt Expence,
Which prison Happiness in cells of Sense!
The Miser may adore his idol, Pelf!
The Sensualist concenter all in Self—
And Vanity may vend Wealth's wasted store,
Amid superfluous funds for ever poor!
True Charity's a gladsome, gainful, Trade,
By Character, and Conscience, doubly paid!
Fair Character gives more than gems and gold!
Clear Conscience, happiness, a hundred-fold!
Reflection finds new gladness—yields new gains;
Repays all spent, and blesses what remains;
While Heav'n remun'rates, here, all Mercy lent,
Returning compound interest, cent. per cent.;

In future, when Faith bids this World farewell,
What Christ's redeeming Love, alone, can tell!

Sure this might Misers sordid Souls excite,
To draw such profit mix'd with pure delight!
A Game where all but witless Gamblers win;
Ensures the Chances—and eschews the Sin!
A Sport where Spendthrifts find the sweets of Love,
In peace, below, and rapturous bliss above!

But Charity still feels her gifts confin'd;
Her mint of Treasure, and her strength of Mind;
Nor need vast Riches roam to distant Strands,
While wretched objects crowd each native Land!
Earth's philanthropic Angels need not go
To search, thro' foreign Cells, for want, or woe,
While thousands perish on their parent shore—
A modest Christian scarce would aim at more;
Unless the good of godlike Souls be sought,
For such can ne'er too hard, too dear, be bought!
Ev'n when we find an Howard's spirit fled,
Tho' all applaud his heart, few praise his head!

God sends his show'rs, and spreads His sunshine smile,
On all, alike; the virtuous and the vile—
Rains boundless blessings down, on Man and Brute,
O'er all the Earth, in foliage—flow'rs—and fruit—
But Man's restricted Bounty ne'er extends
Beyond a needy few, or humble Friends;
And could his favours flow, like oceans, wide,
Still rocks and sands would bound the billowy tide!

All things, created, limits must inclose—
Almighty Mind, alone, no boundary knows!
The wish of mortal Man may range immense—
Still all stands circumscrib'd by Time and Sense!
Man's not like God in Wisdom—Love—or Might—
Yet while He copies Heav'n his conduct's right!
Not absolutely pow'rless, poor, or blind—
Unlike in measure, may be like in Mind!
By Christ's pure, holy, Spirit, humbly led,
When happily renew'd in heart, and head!
No due reward Man's worthiest deeds can win,
His motives, thoughts, words, acts, all mixt with sin!
His virtues—piety—and all his pow'rs,
Bestow'd by Heav'n—his bless'd Redeemer's dow'rs—
Still, tho' excluded thus, from every boast,
He's happiest far who imitates Him most!
No Ostentation Christ's pure conduct shades;
No Vanity upholds; but Pride upbraids!
His favours' ne'er conferr'd for poor applause—
He sounds no Trumpet but proclaiming Laws—
That striking Clarion, which, once more, must sound,
To gather all Earth's reasoning Creatures round,
Their works to weigh—their Heart's intentions trace—
From Nature growing, or that Saviour's Grace!
From kind affection, or weak wish for Fame;
The good of Neighbours, or self-glorying Name!
Mark acts—words—thoughts—and find each moral flaw,
By inbred Conscience, and Heav'n's holy Law!
Strip Ostentation—search those latent cells,
Where selfish drift, or sinful motive, dwells!
All masks forc'd off—all vizor'd views unfurl'd—
All hearts laid bare before the assembled World!
No more will Wealth, nor Pow'r, nor Pomp, nor Pride,
The Messiah, Heav'n's omniscient Judge! avoid—
Nor Cunning's Imps, nor Hypocrites, escape,
Thro' Protean trick, or artificial shape—
For He that made the heart—the eye—the ear—
Infallibly—must know—and see—and hear!
Impanell'd Saints, by His pure Spirit taught,
Shall state each truth—expose each peccant thought!
While Gifts, and Graces, purg'd by perfect skill,
Which form'd Affection—shap'd the wayward Will—
The silver Virtues shining round the heart,
Pure Gold, when polish'd bright by heavenly Art—
And precious Stones, reflecting all the rays,
With feebler beams, the Christian Sun displays,
That grace, and beautify the Godlike breast,
Shall stand the touchstone—the celestial test!
While Wood—Hay—Stubble all, must feel the flames,
Which Pride produces, or vain Fancy frames—
But if the project, and the plan, be pure,
The Architect, and Workman, must endure;
The beauteous Building still remain, unmarr'd,
And each blest Labourer meet his wish'd reward!
Then will the Angels reap the ripen'd Earth,
And separate Weeds of Vice from virtuous Worth—
Will all the tangling Tares, in bundles, bind,
With Chaff to burn, but leave the Wheat behind;
No more to struggle thro' each earthly Clod,
But gather'd in the garner of its God!
Sever the vast, ungrateful, goatish Herd,
Who spurn'd His Wisdom, and despised His Word,
From little flocks of loving, faithful Sheep,
Which learnt His kind commands, and strove to keep—

These will Messiah-Judge, most joyful own,
And call to sing new songs around His Throne!
To taste what Wit, and Learning, ne'er attain—
What warm Imagination vaunts in vain—
What Reason, well-enlighten'd, ne'er can reach,
Nor Inspiration, apostolic, teach!
Where Holiness increas'd, increases joy!
Where Life ne'er fails, and Love feels no alloy!
Those will the mock'd Immanuel, then, disclaim,
To outer darkness driven, with shudd'ring shame—
With teeth still gnashing—pangs which ne'er expire—
'Mid never-dying worms, and quenchless fire!

Had I all Wealth, I hoard up, only, there,
Where no corruption, rust, or moth, appear—
Where thieves and robbers break not thro' to steal,
Or Sin, or Satan, mar the Common-weal!
Seek Treasures only on celestial ground,
Ne'er bought too dear, nor ever lost when found!
That Pearl I'd purchase, whose intrinsic worth
Degrades all gold, and joyless gems of Earth!
Increase, with gracious trade, each talent giv'n,
To gain fresh funds in changeless hoards of Heav'n;
And, when my patrimonial Friend I meet,
Lay principal, and interest, at His Feet!!

GENERAL REFLECTIONS.

Why will proud Wealth expend in pompous Domes,
What would erect a hundred rustic homes?
Or lavish, on their vain internal store,
What might accommodate a hundred more?
Why dress in gorgeous robes, profusely grand,
Whose cost might clothe a Hamlet's humble Band?
Why melt in daily mess, and choicest cheer,
More price than Peasants' household round the Year?
While idling Imps destroy in wanton waste
What would afford poor hords their full repast!
Why wickedly delude gay dangling groups,
To thin the Town's, and Country's, labouring troops;
And on menial Males more cost bestow,
In food and raiment, hire and shining show
More than the useful troops of thought and toil,
Who ply the plastic tool, or till the soil—
More than maritime Crews, and martial Corps,
That guard their dwellings, and protect their shores—
Ev'n more than rural Priests, who humbly plod,
For grievous wages, in the work of God!

How much more wise, and blest, the World would be,
To make each mass recruits for Land, or Sea—
To purge away such weak, and proud, parade,
And turn such tools to instruments of Trade.
Much better such utensils were bestow'd,
To till each waste, and turnpike every road—
Proud equipages chang'd, and tawdry trains,
To teams, ploughs, waggons, carts, and surpliced Swains;
And Maids, so frail, so finical, so fine,
To tend the poultry, and to milk the kine;
And form new families with useful hands,
To furnish Arts, and crop fresh-cultur'd Lands.

Can sumptuous dwellings true delights increase?
Crown every Day with Pleasure? Night with Peace?
Can splendid furniture th' Conscience calm,
Or heal its bleeding wounds with genuine balm?
Can Friends' false portraits that pure Faith supply
Which wakes the Heart with Hope, and Love, and Joy?
Can gaudy garb, and multifarious mess,
Shut Sickness out, or pain, and grief repress?
Can sparkling Caskets, like the Gospel's page,
Give Peace and Comfort in declining Age?
Yield Consolation like Heav'n's purer Pearl,
Amidst a careless World's continual whirl?
Can prancing Coursers, and imperial Coach,
Outstrip rude Time, or stop fell Fate's approach?
Can heedless, hireling troops protect the heart
Against insidious Death's impending dart?
Objects of pity, all! by Ease unblest!
Bold Beggary's pupils! base burglarious pest!
Mean Ministers of Idols! Pride's proud Elves!
Who bow to Others, but adore Themselves—
Amid their Luxury, and their liveries brave,
Each braggart Spirit a most sordid Slave!
And what are all their proud Employers? what?
Rank weeds, on dunghills growing—soon to rot!
Frail moths that flutter thro' their Summer's day!
Blind Butts of mockery! pamper'd Beasts of prey!
Gay lamps, that guide to riot, or to rout,
Or tallow lights, that with gross stench go out!
Hot meteors flying in their fiery cars,
Or wandering, fleeting, cometary stars—
Planets that round some splendid Monarch move,
Impell'd by every impulse but pure Love!
Still urging on, dull days, and noisey nights,
Their trains of secondary Satellites!

Concentric circles—where each Orb, that rolls,
Presents equator, hot; or icey poles—
Their temperate zones, of Friendship, none e'er sees,
But burn, intensely, or intensely freeze!
All move, revolving, as by magic spells;
Self-love attracts, Caprice, or Pride, repels;
While, eager, every Individual runs,
To feel the influence of their central Suns!
Systems, confus'd! where Dupes and Despots toil,
All mock'd by Machiavelian frown, or smile!
For thro' those Clowns, and Courtiers, up to Kings,
From selfish motives each prompt motion springs!
Whirlpools of Time, and Treasure! Urns of Trust!
That pay back bubbles, dim, or blinding dust!
Volcanos! which, tho' calm, sublime they stand,
Like proud protectors o'er their native Land;
But, in each burning bosom, still conceal,
Fell mischief, which, full oft, meek Neighbours feel!
Would scorch, with cruel heat, each prostrate plain,
Did not the hand of Heav'n their wrath restrain;
Turn their fierce fires—reverse their vengeful aims,
And broil themselves, while belching furious flames!

Let not bold Wealth, in rude objections, rise,
Against such self-denying sacrifice.
Let Pride not say great Riches prove a right
To squander all in vain, or vile, delight—
Have not the Rich, as well as Poor, allow'd,
When, at baptismal font their Sponsors vow'd,
All pampering worldly Pomp should be denied,
As well as fleshly Lust, and devilish Pride?
And each, however bless'd with Pow'r, or Pelf,
Was bound to love his Neighbour like Himself.
How well such sacred compacts, now, are kept,
When Wealth's raw Tyros once become adept;
And Passion, Pride, and Lust, scout Christian care,
Let Palaces, and princely Domes, declare!
Let every public Place, and secret Cell,
The Court—the Camp—the School—the College, tell!
Plays—Operas—Bagnios—Balls—Fêtes—Taverns—Stews—
Routs—Concerts—Masquerades, confirm the News!
Where every Wight, thro' Wickedness, or Whim,
Stays not till Satan tempts, but all tempt Him!

Such Pomp and Pride, at first, was never kown,
Till Man's Ambition built and climb'd a Throne;
Each hoping to enlarge the Serpent's lie,
Becoming prouder Gods, thus perch'd so high!
Adam ne'er nourish'd up an idle Child,
Nor pious Noah one Descendant spoil'd!
The Patriarch' patroniz'd no lazy Lout—
Ev'n Prophets, and Apostles, liv'd without—
Nor Heav'n's obedient Heirs in aftertimes,
Offended Christ with such audacious crimes,
But to His holy Will most humbly bent,
Each, bless'd with food, and coverings, felt content!
Nay, ev'n unmatch'd Messiah, whose command
Extended, uncontroul'd, o'er Sea and Land,
Had not a hut wherein to lay His head,
But, daily, labour'd, long, for daily Bread!
Tho' Man's whole Race was subject to His call,
Yet He assum'd no Sovereign Pomp at all!
Tho' hosts of Heav'n His high behests obey'd,
Still, He, by them, ordain'd no proud parade!
Ne'er aim'd to gain by sceptre, sword, or spear,
Grandeur, or pow'r, or high dominion here!
No legions levied—no vain flags unfurl'd—
He sought no Kingdom in this nether World:
And all who fear His wrath, and feel His rod,
Will give all glory to their Saviour God!

Know this, and shudder, all, ye shameless Great!
Who strive to stablish arbitrary State;
How much unlike your Lord—mild—lowly—meek!
Who idol honours, godlike glory, seek;
Unmeet for Man below—or Hosts above—
No Creature claims them in the realms of Love!
You, who, like Deities, demand such Pow'r,
Unbounded—as by Deeds of heav'nly Dow'r!
Who o'er this Globe, as Gods, would wish to reign,
Like Lucifer all vengeful—false—and vain!
In haughty temples place each impious shrine,
Demanding, from your Vassals, dues divine!

In linen, fine, and Fashion's garments, gay,
Still faring sumptuous every passing day!
You, who base honours mutually bestow,
Have had your consolations all below!
Who, labouring, plod, in pain, for frail applause—
Who know not Christ, nor live by christian Laws—
Who aim no high'r than Titles, Pow'r, and Wealth,
Regardless of all Grace, and heavenly Health—
All proudly boasting your superior Birth
But live like Brutes—mere habitants of Earth!

Devoid of virtuous Love; pure Faith, and Fear;
As tho' no Gospel—God—or Hope, was here!
Peruse no Page in Heav'n's unblemish'd Book,
Nor e'er to awful Judge, or Judgment, look—
Yes, weakly look, while full of worldly leav'n,
To reach, and relish, holy joys in Heav'n!

Can You e'er hope with Him in Heav'n to reign
Who pinch His Children, here, with woe and pain?
Who wound, with thorns, again, His glorious head,
By pointed sorrows, round their pillows spread?
You mock and persecute the christian Chief,
Who scourge His faithful Friends with causeless grief!
Again, in them, their Saviour crucify,
And thro' their hearts to His the spear apply!
Their hands, and feet, with toil, and travail, flead,
Make His, with recent lacerations, bleed!
You, as wild asses' colts, like others, born,
His kindly precepts, pure example, scorn!
You seldom seek the broken hearts to bind,
To help the lame, or lead the abject blind!
The griev'd, and needy, ne'er, as Neighbours, greet,
Much less, like Servants, wash Inferiors' feet!
But rarely make meek Innocence amends,
Or, faithfully, forgive repentant Friends—
Much less to Strangers open house, and purse,
Befriend your Foes, or bless the Fools that curse!
In others eyes the smallest mote make known;
But ne'er perceive the beam that blinds your own!
At gnats of etiquette intensely strain,
While swallowing camel-crimes for gust, or gain!
Such beasts may easier pass thro' needles' eyes,
Than You, with Wealth so laden, climb the skies!
Intemperate feasts You frequently provide,
To fatten fatness, and to pamper pride;
Rich Neighbours calling to be call'd agen,
But send no summonses to meaner Men!
Prepare proud banquets to be paid in kind,
Not strengthening meals for poor, and maim'd, and blind;
But Worth, in want, imperiously spurn
For Penury can impart no rich return!
Some filthy fragments of luxurious treat,
That Sycophant, or Servant, scorns to eat—
Some sapless flesh, stale rinds, dry crusts, provide,
That supercilious Cook has cast aside;
But dainty dish, for private use put by,
Become quite mouldy, stinking, dull, or dry,
That oft had grac'd the table, rich, or rare,
Some shameless beggar—dog—or dust-hole share!
Such Friends, on Friends, confer a ready dow'r—
Honour bestows on Honour—Pow'r on Pow'r—
Greatness to Greatness gives, and Pelf to Pelf—
All forming circles—every centre Self—
But Labour, lowly—Piety, when poor,
Are driven, indignant, from your friendless door!
Such liberality will God regard?
No!—Such have, here, receiv'd their whole reward!

SOCIAL REFLECTIONS.

Should Heav'n, in vengeance, on vain Rich and Great,
Curtail the bones, and sinews, of the State—
Nerves—muscles—tendons—ligaments, unbind,
And only leave such heads and trunks behind—
Soon would those Heads lament the want of Limbs,
To feed their wants, and gratify their whims—
Soon find sad insufficiency of Parts,
Without those instruments of Toils, and Arts—
And soon the Friends, by which those Trunks are fed,
Not sending succours to sustain the Head,
The mouth must gasp with hunger—throat with thirst—
The belly shrivel, or, with flatus, burst:
Not cram, and carp, while Hunger cook'd and carv'd,
Nor, gorge, like Lions, while Jackals were starv'd—
No cultur'd Scenes would charm the ravish'd Sight!
No dulcet sounds of Art fond Ears delight!
The Nose no Scent perceive but native stink!
The Tongue no Taste indulge, with Meat, or Drink!
No warm Sensation suffering Feeling soothe,
Nor charm the Nerves, all numb, with soft, or smooth;
But each be shrunk with Sorrow, shame, and smart,
And Death, while Stomach starv'd, seize Head, and Heart!

Would such weak Heads abandon blundering whims,
Nor, proudly cold, despise kind labouring limbs—
Would such dull Trunks their duteous trusts return,
Nor thus the needful Members madly spurn—
Still cordially concoct and render pure,
The funds, and food, poor instruments procure—
Prepare the vital stream, and strengthening juice,
And circulate them free for general use;
Then each apt part, with universal voice,
Would with pure Justice, and prompt Truth rejoice!
Not glutton Trunks, with guilty cries complain

That Limbs are loads, and prove their Bearer's pain,
Nor haughty foolish Heads indignant flout,
And boast they well could bear their pomp without—
Or, with imperious pride, like ignorant Fools,
Contemn, with taunts, such needful, working, Tools.

Ye Pagods! Statues! Busts! Medallions! Coins!
Each, in respective Niche, inertly shines—
Look large with artful frown, or frigid smile,
O'er chemic Skill—and subterranean Toil—
Which, with a dead indifference, tamely stand,
Regardless of each gift from forming hand;
Nor guess the good poor circling pence produce,
More than mere Medals ne'er once turn'd to use!
All aiming to impose your shameless parts,
As proofs of native Powers, and skilful Arts;
And make proud forms for gold, or silver, pass,
While all's but Wood—Stone—Lead—or burnish'd Brass—
With supercilious leer, or stupid stare,
Scorn skill which form'd, and furnish'd, all you are,
Or, with dull self-sufficient, fronts, deride,
That industry, which wealth and worth supplied!
Yet tho' indebted, thus, for each fond claim,
Of Pow'r, of Pomp, of Fortune, and of Fame,
You stir no eye—no ear—or head—or arm,
Exhausted strength to chear, or Taste to charm;
To urge ingenious hands; soothe Want, or Woe;
Labour, or Skill, which bear such loads below;
But, idly lounge, or insolently stand,
The base opprobrium of a nerveless Land!
Mere Portraits on their proud posteriors placed,
Inspectors, weak, of Genius—Art—or Taste!
Or, deckt in golden glories, heedless lie,
While your poor Manufacturers pine—or die!

Behold! Ye Rich! the wretch'd brood around!
Who dig your dismal mines, and work your ground—
Ply countless curious Arts, that You may 'scape
All want, in real, or unreal, shape!

They build your Domes, where Deities might dwell—
And will not You allow some lowly Cell;
Some simple Hovel—Hut—or sheltering Shed,
Where they may drink their water—break their bread;
When bread they have, and weary limbs may lie,
Secure from fierce attacks of stormy sky—
And where, when all their pence, on wants, are spent,
No feudal Churl can come to rail for Rent?

With Furniture they fit Your radiant Rooms—
Invent—prepare—and furnish, rich perfumes—
Shall such kind Friends, in squalid holes comprest,
'Mid atmospheres of filth, and rubbish, rest?

They fence Your Gardens—force Your fruits to grow—
And will not You some petty patch bestow,
Where Industry may find its frugal dish,
While God gives You game—ven'son—fowls—and fish?

They dress Your meadows—fertilize Your field;
And ought not You some small inclosure yield,
Where each may range, or rest, when Sundays shine,
Look round their little spot, and cry—'tis Mine?

They clear the plains—They pulverize the clod—
Will You, Wealth's Heirs! withold the heathy sod,
To thaw their frozen fingers—warm their feet—
And cook the scraps Your slaves would scorn to eat!

They watch Your woodlands—fell Your stems, and trees—
Give frost a fire-stick! rain a day of ease!
Nor let poor Worth with want—cold—toil, expire,
While You enjoy full choice, and chearful fire!

They brew Your beer—press pear, and apple, wine;
Yet quaff cold water, daily, when they dine—
And, while you satiate each base, beastly, Lust,
Munch vegetables, crude, with mouldy crust!

Your Horses—Hounds—Yes Hogs—at board, and bed,
Are better clothed—skreen'd, fenc'd, and lodg'd, and fed—
Ev'n Farmer's Hog may fill his hungry maw,
Well shelter'd take his rest on wholesome straw,
Whilst labouring Boors may find more scanty draff,
And lay tired limbs on stinking straw, or chaff!
Princes and Peers, for Horses, or for Hounds,
Expend, in mansions, twice ten thousand pounds;
While those that furnish all, yield all defence,
Crowd kraals that ne'er cost half ten thousand pence!

Wealth squanders time, and strength, and countless store,
To bolster Pride and Lust with barren Whore,
While wedded Mates who feel as fellow Men,
May breed, like beasts, and starve in dreary den!

What! ostentatious Monsters! shall your Beast
Better than Brethren sleep! than Sisters feast!
Shall steril Strumpets live more costly Lives
Than fond, affianced, pure, productive Wives?
Shall clam'rous Broods, for bread, 'midst plenty, cry,
And skill'd Mechanics, prest with penury, die?

While You, with Pomp and Luxury, still devour
What wise Heav'n meant for all Men's dow'r!

That such things are no Sceptic e'er denied,
Such is the curs'd economy of Pride!
Such the expence of Vanity's pursuits,
And Lusts, which fain would lurch all Nature's fruits!
While Towns thrust thousands out, in starving Trains!
Legions of meagre martyrs press the Plains!
See the sunk eye—lean look—and shrivell'd limb!
Nor deem it Fancy's dream, or Poet's whim.
With faltering step behold each Phantom stalk!
Like ghastly ghosts, hear Spectres muttering talk!
Whose rambling murmurs, while to Heav'n they rise,
On You must fall, in curses, from the skies!
There Angels weep, while Wealth's hard hearts below,
Pass heedless by, or mock their wants, and woe!
Which from the Artist, and the Hind, withold,
Earth's plenteous produce, and grasp all its gold!
And tho' those haughty hearts so deep despise
A Bard not boasting wit, not learn'd, not wise—
Yet, hear, tho' he's unskill'd in construing Greek,
Hear, in plain English, an Apostle speak:

“Go to, now, wretched Rich! and weep, and howl!
“Your miseries come, for all your conduct, foul!
“Your wealth will feel corruption's fell alloy!
“Your gorgeous garments fretting moths destroy!
“Your gold and silver, deeply canker'd o'er,
“Whose rust shall rise one adverse witness more;
“Shall eat your flesh! as fire on fuel preys,
“Together heap'd against Your latter days!
“Behold the Labourer's hire, Your fraud denies,
“Who reap'd Your crops, to Heav'n, for vengeance, cries,
“Entering the Lord of Sabbaoth's listening ears,
“Who notes their sighs, and bottles up their tears,
“In Judgment to confront the guilty Great,
“Makes shame and misery's punishment compleat!
“Ye live in pleasure, here, and wanton lust,
“While they with labour bend, and lick the dust!
“Your hearts grown callous to their starving call,
“Like sanguine Chiefs, when slanghter'd Victims fall!
“You dare to judge the just; condemn, and kill;
“While he resists not Your tyrannic Will.
“Be patient, O my Brethren! help will come—
“The Lord will quickly call his labourers home!
“Behold the Husbandman still waits the birth,
“And ripening, fully; precious fruits of Earth;
“With faith and patience waits, nor waits in vain,
“But shares the early and the latter rain.
“Oh! be you patient! stablish well your hearts—
“Your misery's short—with death each pang departs!
“Then shall you meet your Saviour in the sky;
“In faith and patience wait—Redemption's drawing nigh!”

Thus taught the sacred Saint—Thus sung the Swain,
While casting pensive looks o'er all the Plain;
Then view'd, with anxious eye, his little store,
And fondly wept o'er all the friendless Poor;
Wishing his Wealth as large as Penury's call,
That Pity might dispense full shares to all!

How weakly twinkles Reason's glimmering spark!
Obscure, the present—all the future, dark!
Reflection finds, in Memory's mirror, shown,
Each fleeting moment objects, newly flown;
While dim ideas, passing rapid by,
Maugre Man's grasp, scarce catch the mental eye!
Fears—hopes—desires—with feather or with dart,
Pierce deep, or tickle, passing o'er the heart!
Weak pains, or pleasures, faintly frown, or smile,
With feebler joys, or sorrows, each recoil;
But deep misfortunes at each strong rebound,
Strike deeper, still, and widen every wound!

Good-nature, destitute of spleen, or pride,
Leans, fondly, tow'rds the favourable side;
While different reasons urge their different pleas,
To jostle Judgment's dernier degrees;
And spurns, with promptitude, ungenerous Doubt,
Till deep Experience points each danger out;
Who often travels far, and suffers long,
Ere taught to shun Gulphs—Rocks—and Syren's song!

A Friend, still poorer than Crispinus' self,
Discovering he possess'd some pounds of pelf,
With winning pathos came, his cause to plead,
Imploring help to ease the pressing need;
While, more to move his Will, with solemn Oath,
Vow'd soon to send back loan and interest both.

By Pity soften'd, while a Friend complains,
No weak-wall'd Resolution long remains!
Batter'd by groans, and sapp'd by streaming tear,
While summon'd by the sighs of kindred, dear—
And when such siege lasts long, and waxes warm,

To scape more conflict, and avoid the storm,
Self-love no more repulsive weapons wields,
But opes her portals, and the plunder yields!
True, sympathetic hearts, assail'd with woe,
Feel failing strength while struggling with the Foe;
And oft, too late, this troublous lesson learn,
Such Captors rarely captur'd rights return!

Who could withold ten paltry Guineas, long,
When sorrow's troops attack'd ten thousand strong!
And prude, Pretence, in Candour's cloak array'd,
With Truth's meek mask, Simplicity betray'd!
As hapless Females listen to the lies
Black Villains vend beneath Love's fair disguise.
Ere the prompt Bounty bless'd his poor abode,
Compassion lent the Stock large Wealth bestow'd!
—As tantalizing phantasms take their flight,
Whose unsubstantial gildings glad the Night;
In fumes dispers'd before the focal ray,
When rays of Reason blend with beams of Day;
So Crispin view'd that visionary Store,
Which, like such dream dissolv'd—to mock no more!

FRIENDLY PROPOSAL PROVED ABORTIVE.

A simple proverb, long, to Rustics, known,
That, “Sad mishaps but seldom come alone,”
Repeated, frequent, with mere monkish phlegm,
At length feels fix'd like holy apophthegm—
This, Crispin, soon, by sore experience knew—
Just then dear Shenstone bade the world adieu!

That Patron, once, with pure intent, essay'd
To court shy Crispin from his native shade,
To stand in social situation placed,
Far more propitious to poetic taste—
In literary circles fix'd, to find
New nourishment to feed his famish'd mind;
And, for his tender Mate, and feeble brood,
A fairer shelter, and much surer food.

He, poor Pedestrian! wander'd on his way,
To proud Augusta, profligately gay!
Not in luxurious Carriage, bosom'd, soft—
Not as a Coachman's comrade, perch'd aloft,
Not on the burden'd summit borne along,
Amidst a merry, rustic, thoughtless throng;
Nor in a tilted town mid motley store,
To loll, at ease a thousand furlongs o'er.
Part of his way some youthful favourites went—
Amused his time, infused some small content—
But when, at length their lingering steps return'd,
With double force his bosom froze and burn'd,
But all the lengthen'd track his footsteps trod,
Without one Friend, but his first Patron—God!
The plan appear'd, from superficial sight,
To proffer competence, and fresh delight;
But on more mature and close inspection show'd,
Tho' new, 'twas Need's, and Misery's, mirey road—
To try his strength in literary skill—
To bend his talents to a Master's Will—
To sacrifice his time, each waking hour,
In dull routine for insufficient Dow'r.
The flight he took, but found it fraught with pain!
He'd left his Mate, repining, on the Plain!
With helpless Younglings, chirping round her nest,
Or fed, like Pelicans, from bleeding breast:
Her absent Partner still her thorny theme,
Which pierc'd her heart, while pouring pungent stream!
What could he do? his bleeding bosom found,
A sharper—deeper—and a wider, wound!
For, ah! he miss'd his Offsprings' pleasing smiles,
Which wont to soften cares, and sweeten toils!
No brood, by tenderness, paternal, bred;
Perch'd on his pinions—twitter'd round his head!
No more his beauteous Consort bless'd his sight,
Made his lov'd bondage dear—his labour light!
He bask'd no more beneath her heavenly eyes,
That kindled griefs, and fears, to hopes, and joys!
Like Nightingale, to city-cage consign'd,
Lost love made solitary! absence, blind!
With myriads mix'd no integer enjoy'd,
For all Sense offer'd, Sorrow still destroy'd!
His minish'd will and mutilated wing,
Depriv'd his heart of pow'r, and wish, to sing;
Like the fond Turtle, banish'd from his Mate,
He felt, and mourn'd, his miserable fate!
Unblest! no billing, cooeing, Consort near,
To calm deep groans or draw out cooling tear!
But, like a House in flames, his fierce desires,
Consum'd his Soul with still intenser fires;
While fann'd and nourish'd with incessant sigh,
All Friends far distant—fountains all run dry;
For when, like sighs, the breezey gales begin
To breathe without, they feed the fires within;
But when the engines' watery fountains play,

The flame's soon conquer'd, and the fires decay:
Such is the sorrow when the eye-lids flow,
And sympathetic Friendship shares the woe—
Sighs quickly cease—soon moping misery's o'er;
And soon each painful passion's felt no more!

Smit with a Lover's—Husband's—Father's, smart,
All pangs, combin'd, that plague both head and heart;
He sought from such unmingled griefs to fly,
And hasten back to Penury, Peace, and Joy;
Where all his wretchedness would sink to rest,
Lull'd on the eider-down of Daphne's breast.
Tho' novel prospects offer'd objects new,
Which might have charm'd an undivided view,
'Twas trouble to His faithful, friendly, Mind,
Who'd left the idols of his heart behind!
Its labours large, its profits far too small,
To satisfy fond Nature's common call;
Much less the fairer fruits of Life afford,
Lov'd leisure, comelier cloaths, and better board;
Or offering hopes, that, any future hour,
Might place enjoyment more in Daphne's pow'r,
But all forboded loss of present peace;
Intenser toils, and anxious cares increase!

CALM REFLECTIONS!

Better be pined on providential scraps,
With Love's beatitudes, and mix'd mishaps,
Than insulated Wretch's torpor share,
Tho' daily fed with Fortune's daintiest fare!
Better in ragged, squalid, robes be clad
Where cordial bliss can be, with labour, had,
Than swell, elate, with splendid garments, gay,
And die, with indolence, the live-long day!
Better be lodg'd in small, sequester'd, shed,
Daub'd with plain plaster, in uncurtain'd bed,
Enjoying revelry in Love's delight;
Or watch, or chide, with children, all the night—
Than, in seclusion cold, unsocial sigh,
No faithful wedded Friend, or Offspring, nigh—
Still tossing, sleepless, on a bed of state,
Surrounded by proud Imps of Spleen and Hate;
Where not a Soul among the selfish tribes,
Moves foot, or finger, but from threats, or bribes!
Thus warn'd by Wisdom, and impell'd by Fear,
While eager to escape such task, austere,
To Daphne's arms impatient Crispin hied,
To taste the bliss Her bosom ne'er denied,
Cast all his cares and sorrows to the wind,
And left black melancholy far behind—
Resolv'd again to ply his pristine trade,
Whose labours Daphne's love still over-paid;
Where in her looks, and on her lips, he found
A balm for ev'ry woe, and ev'ry wound!

AT HOME.

Now plac'd, once more, upon his native height,
Amidst dear scenes of ever-new delight!
Where former themes conspir'd, with present things,
That first allur'd his Lyre, and tun'd the strings,
Again the strings, with higher transport, strung—
Again his Friend's enchanting Site he sung—
Sung the sad loss of Him, with genuine grief,
And grateful strains to all who lent relief;
Unconscious where, or when, his cares would end,
Yet well assured that Heav'n was, still, his Friend!

No finite Mind can comprehend the plan
God's providence marks out for favour'd Man!
Nor, with his feeble sight, distinct, forsees
One future hour His deep and dark decrees!
But, by the light of Revelation, knows,
Midst clouds of ignorance—wickedness—and woes;
Beset with Satan's wiles, and worldly strife,
And all the countless temporal plagues of Life,
Whatever ills Believers' hearts betide,
Their God's their Guardian—Governor—and Guide!
Who cleaves to Him no curse can e'er befal;
Friend—Father—Saviour—still controuling all!
Each dark occurrence, clearly understood,
Shews embryo Evil growing into Good!
All foolish Man calls Accident, or Fate,
Dispos'd by Him in measure, shape, and weight!
No change of Fortune, and no freaks of Chance,
Thro' Nature's realms, in mingled Atoms dance—
'Mong particles of Dew, or drops of Rain;
The tracks of Comets, or the Meteor train—
Dire Earthquake's depredations—Lighting's stroke—
Wide-wasting waters, o'er their boundaries broke—
O'erwhelming flames or wild, impetuous, Wind,
Or wickedness, or whims, among Mankind—
The murderous massacres of wilful War—
Contusion slight, or superficial scar;
With all the tricks of Vanity, and Vice,

That now perplex this earthly Paradise—
All that to Time, or Property, pertain,
Health—Sickness—Languor—Death—or Loss, or Gain;
Thro' Heav'n's Foreknowledge, forms one perfect plan
For God's full Glory—greatest Good of Man!

Whate'er dire dangers Christians' course surround,
God's Wisdom, Love, and Pow'r, are faithful found;
And while they offer Heav'n their willing hearts
Christ fills the Father's—Friend's—Proctector's, parts!
Should misery, or mistake, their Minds mislead,
Thro' morbid Habit, or unchristian Creed,
Yet, humbly bowing, with obsequious Will,
Omniscient Wisdom proves their pilot still!
Tho' Foes may persecute, by fraud, or spoil,
Unchanging Justice shapes their weal the while;
Or Pride—Lust—Malice—present Peace destroy,
Eternal Truth ensures unending Joy!
And, tho' the Earth, and Heav'ns, all pass away,
God's witness'd Covenant will ne'er decay;
But full affianc'd Mercy—Love—and Grace—
Will find—and fit—and fix—their endless resting-place!

Nature instructs, as Reason travels round,
O'er starry firmament, or teeming ground;
While God's blest Book, the Soul's instructor, true!
Enlivens, and illustrates, every view—
Where Faith, and Hope assist the strengthen'd sight,
And His pure Spirit wills—“Let there be Light!”
Faith sees celestial radiance beam above,
Tho' vapours, dense, eclipse the sapphire cove,
Veil each faint sun of night, and planet's sphere,
She knows uncounted numbers twinkle there.
Tho' murkey clouds obscure the Sun's bright blaze,
The spungey Air imbibes his trindled rays;
And, while those meteors melt in sighs and tears,
Its covenanting arch the rainbow rears!
Thro' thickest mediums of misfortunes, dark,
Love gathers light from every sprinkled spark;
And Hope, fair Sister! wandering by her side,
With borrow'd beams illumes the welkin wide,
While Faith, on both their full-grown shoulders borne,
O'er Earth's horizon looks, and marks Heav'n's opening Morn!

The Summer-Sun, with Soul-dissolving heat,
Cooks animated Nature's constant treat—
The Thunder's grumblings, with keen Lightning's glare,
Diffuse Heav'n's balanc'd fires, o'er Earth and Air—
Rude Rains that spread intemperate ruins round,
Replenish springs, and irrigate the ground—
The Mountain's naked breast, in fruitful rills,
The suckled Vales with health, and fatness, fills;
While, from its teeming wombs, immense supplies,
Of stoney wealth, fair fanes, and villas, rise—
Ev'n while Volcanos roar, and Earthquakes rend,
The faithful Christian finds in each, a Friend:
For, tho' ingulphing lavas' liquid glow,
May fix their frames in burning depths below;
Or cloven Mountains, 'mid their craggy glooms,
Imbed their Bodies, deep, in stoney tombs;
Yet, while they burst the soil, and burn the sod,
They lift and light their Souls from Earth to God!

But Man, thro' colour'd lenses, need not try
To scan the Volumes of the Earth and Sky,
Or catch uncertain truth, or dubious hint,
From Sibyl phrase, or frail, imperfect, print;
While, smarting much, and oft, from Tutor's stripe,
Few Scholars understand a single type—
Much less can learn, in this World's carnal schools,
Their sovereign Master's more mysterious rules!
No classic teaching those pure Truths imparts,
That Scripture stamps on humblest Christians' hearts!
'Tis wisest, far, by Heav'n's clear light, to look
O'er the bright pages of God's gracious Book;
By which each eye of heav'n-illumin'd Minds,
Some useful science, in each sentence, finds.
Whence Nature's wonderous objects all arose—
Whence Man's foul, wicked, fall, with all his woes—
Where cloudy Ignorance may most clearly read,
Whence grew each graceless wish, foul word, and deed:
All that concerns the Souls of all the Race,
Consulting God, in Council, face to face.
May see Him in His Son's bright image, there,
Devoid of doubt, surmise, or slavish fear!
Behold Him wise—benevolent—and just—
For ever faithful to His promis'd trust!
Prompt, boundless Gifts, and Graces, to bestow,
To fit bless'd Souls for Heav'n, while here below!
Conferring Faith's—Hope's—Love's—full evidence,
Past Reason's reach, and Learning's proud pretence!
Fresh strength still offer'd to support the Soul,
'Gainst Prejudice—Lust—Passions'—strong controul;

Presenting motives—views—and objects, new,
All Pride to conquer, and each Lust subdue—
And, every heart, with tenderness, to win,
Forgives iniquity—transgression—sin!
With pure affection pardoning every flaw,
In debts of duty, and in rules of Law—
Where Justice joins with Mercy, hand in hand,
Like wedded Pairs' indissoluble band.
Not urging force, or fear; but chearful choice,
To wed with Virtue, while divorcing Vice!
With promise, full, of permanent reward,
For each true instance of the heart's regard!
The Mind's meek wishes, unpossest of pow'r,
Esteem'd much more than Pride's imperial dow'r.
Ev'n Widow's freewill mites are valued far more
Than grasps of gold from Ostentation's store;
The Kid, Lamb, Turtle-Dove, or Pigeon's prized
While Birds of Prey, foul Dog, and Swine's despis'd!
He gives the Whole—yet wooes one simple part,
One small return—an undivided Heart!
The Parent, He—the all-sufficient Friend,
Of all that on His Word, and Will, depend;
Whose Nature purest designations prove,
Sublime, and abstract; Truth—and Light—and Love!
Enfolding, in a Father's bless'd embrace,
Each Child that chooses His forgiving Grace;
Yet, with stern sentence, like a Judge severe,
Declares He never can the guilty clear!

Such paradoxes, who can reconcile?
Admit such sentence, yet make Justice smile?
Make ingrate Man lift up his guilty head?
In sin and trespass twice condemn'd, and dead!
How shall he clear the cost, and purchase peace,
While every hour condemning debts increase?
A poor insolvent Bankrupt! fetter'd fast!
All pow'r, all hope, of legal pardon, past!
By crimes, become, to Death, a destin'd prey;
Without one merit, or one mite, to pay!
Yet—lo! each crime's forgiv'n! each farthing's paid!
On blameless Innocence each burden's laid!
All damning debts are cross'd, all crimes discharg'd,
And every praying Prisoner's Life's enlarg'd;
While God's decree declares Christ's death, alone,
One crime can cancel, or one fault atone—
No blood of Beasts, or Man's polluted gore,
Whose Life was forfeit, by offence, before;
Tho' His pure Heart be pierc'd, His blood be spilt,
Whose Life was ne'er disgrac'd with debt, or guilt!
That high, celestial, gracious, Life was giv'n,
The second Adam's Soul—the Lord's, from Heav'n!
That perfect Pattern! free from fault, or flaw,
Which none, before, or since, Earth never saw,
Of Sion's purest Love, and Sinai's perfect Law!
—He, rich in mercy, to Man's wretched Race,
Before He drove them from their pristine place,
Instead of figleaf breeches shame had made,
With coats of skins, Heav'n's workmanship! array'd—
—He, Noah sav'd, but drown'd the World of Sin—
Taught him to shape the Ark, and shut him in.
—He held back Abraham's arm, and threat'ning knife
And gave redeeming Ram, for Isaac's Life.
—He instituted each succeeding type,
To stand in strength till His pure plan was ripe,
Then—thro' His Father's image! Glory bright!
In servile shape appear'd to human sight,
That Law, Himself had fashion'd, to fulfil,
And execute His Father's righteous Will!
Vouchsaf'd to labour—suffer—bleed—and die,
To purchase Man's clear title to the sky;
And sent celestial influence, from above,
To fit him for that realm of rest, and love—
And that's the Friend and Follower most caress'd,
Who leans, most loving, on His bleeding breast!

By Him repentant Prodigals are own'd,
And crimson crimes, of deepest dye, aton'd;
Inviting ev'n the vilest of the Vile,
So long the slaves of Sin, and Satan's wile,
To seek His pardon, and accept His peace,
That Faith might flourish, and mad Sin might cease,
Hope more abound—Love more believers bless,
And turn each view tow'rds Heav'n's pure Happiness!

He soothes the miseries of the Saints who weep—
Throws wide His fold for stray'd, returning, Sheep—
Protects from wolves—secures from cold and heat,
And feeds with streams, and pastures, pure, and sweet!
Who, when he wond'rously resign'd His breath,
Procur'd Man peace, and conquer'd Sin, and Death!
Wash'd Earth's delinquencies with second flood,
And sign'd and seal'd new Covenant with blood!
Blest Pact! comprising all the human Race,
In every period—and in every place!
For all that simply seek, and meekly claim;

Believe his written Truths, and own His Name!
Sure Legatees, by new and blessed birth!
Adopted Denizons of Heav'n, on Earth!
Copy his Life in each fair signature,
And, to the end, in perfect Faith endure—
To prove each document, and pay each dow'r,
He laid Life down, but reassum'd His pow'r!
And now, enthron'd, He executes His Will;
Decrees, as King, on Heav'n's tribunal still;
And sends His seal'd Embassador, below,
Possessions—rights—and titles, to bestow!
Who, in kind condescension, clears each clause
In bounteous legacies, and binding laws!
Helps all enquiring Spirits to perceive,
Why Reason ought assent, and Souls believe.
Subdues their stubborn Wills, and stoney Hearts,
To feel fresh duties, and perform fresh parts!
Confers new pow'rs, Life's conflicts to endure,
Conducts each conquest, and directs each cure;
While, in this World's campaign, so frequent found,
The scars of Conscience, or weak Spirit's wound.
Shows God, blest Giver! will His bounties raise
Rewards of watchfulness—thanks—prayer—and praise.
With Gospel Temperance all His gifts adjusts;
Controuls Pride—Passions—and all lawless Lusts—
And, while He shows the bliss such conduct brings,
Supplies fresh, unstolen honey, free from stings!
Proves the blank emptiness of all, below,
But gifts of Grace, which up to Glory grow!
Shows how the charms of Man, and choicest Maid,
All zest of Youth, and full-toned vigour, fade!
How soon the wizard face, and wither'd frame,
No more enchanting grace, or charm, can claim,
When furrow'd features—awkward actions, move
No warm emotion, or fond look of Love;
But sympathetic Pity, each, excites
To mourn Immortals trick'd with Time's delights!
Which marks 'mid crowds of crimes' wild pains, and woes,
No Faith's refreshment, and no Hope's repose;
Unless pure Piety, and calm Content,
Console dull Age, and smooth Life's rough descent!
Shows how rapt Poet, and cold-thoughted Clown,
Alike must lay their wit, and dulness, down!
The proud and pamper'd Rich, and wretched Poor,
Shall share Earth's joys, and miseries, now no more;
But mix, both blank and mute, one common crowd,
In naked shame, or frill'd funereal shrowd!
Where Hero vaunts no more, nor victim weeps,
But with proud Conqueror prostrate Captive sleeps!
Each senseless title, and distinction cease!
All troubled christian Spirits rest in peace!
The mightiest Sovereigns, and the meanest Slaves,
Forgotten equals, in their clay-cold graves!
Except rich sumptuous Mausoleum, rise
With pompous labels, eloquent in lies!
With dazzling look, and flattery, well-refin'd,
Like chousing Courtiers maskt, to cheat Mankind—
Compressing Peers, and Despots, in the dust,
Till marbles moulder, and remembrance rust—
While Penury sleeps before Pride's heedless feet,
Till summon'd, both, from Earth, as Equals, meet,
To share just Sentence, at Christ's Judgment-seat!

He holds the balance, with suspended weights,
Which poises temporal and eternal States—
Hangs Life's most valu'd boons on Nature's beam,
All drawn, unheeded, to Life's last extreme—
A lovely Consort's faithful, fond, embrace—
Cherubic Daughters—Sons of godlike race—
Chaldean Kingdom—Wit—with boundless Wealth—
Firm Peace—full Pleasure—length of Life, and Health—
While Fancy, Pomp, and Flattery, still, conspire
To raise each monstrous estimation high'r—
Yet, on each object, and its best delights,
His rectifying finger, TEKEL, writes:
While, sliding slow'r, at length Life's motion stops,
Then, from the broken link, down, down, each bauble drops!

He purges Mind thro' all its visual pow'rs,
To view Earth's transient, Heav'n's eternal, hours;
With clear conceptions, thro' assisted Sense,
That Time's a point! Eternity, immense!
Proves what substantial blessings Mortals miss,
By bartering Heav'n's for Earth's ignoble bliss!
Compares poor Coins, and unleas'd Acres, here,
With fadeless Crowns, and freehold Kingdoms, there!
Time's empty trifles—Sense's cheating toys,
With endless Life's, and Love's, extatic Joys!
All, genuine Joys! unmeasur'd! and unmix'd!
These, frail, and fleeting! those, for ever fix'd!
And, as Death drives to Time's remotest shore,
Earth's vain distinctions merge to rise no more!

He teaches Saints true perspective—divine!
Shows tinsel, near, may distant gold outshine—
Transparent Pebble's feeble neighbouring rays,
Excel remoter diamond's brightest blaze;
And span-wide puddles, by, with greensward verge,
Vast Ocean's tow'ry strand, and mountain surge!
Why Glowworm's glimmering spark seems brighter, far,
Than strongest gleams from high Herschelian star;
That smallest motes may intercept the sight,
And quite obscure the lunar Lamp of night;
Or interpose before the purblind eye,
And blot full sunbeams from unclouded sky,
And flying Meteor's train, and fiery trace,
Drown brilliant Suns that speck unbounded space!

Nor teaches, He, these obvious truths, alone,
By Sense perceiv'd, or narrow reasonings known;
But helps the Soul to search the inward parts,
And mark the movements of all human Hearts,
As well the workings of Satanic Souls,
As those His truths, and Influence, controuls.
Tells Understanding how Vice teems within,
From procreant slips, or pregnant seeds, of Sin!
With every dangerous shade, and different shape,
Hypocrisy invests as Virtues ape!
What lep'rous evils venom'd Pride hath spread,
Thro' every feverish heart, and frantic head!
How bubbling Passions burst from poison'd springs,
Taint every thought, and tinge ev'n sacred things!
How Lusts, from Appetites degraded, grow,
To spoil blest plans, and purposes, below;
While both, combin'd, perverted pow'rs mislead
To wicked wish—curs'd scheme—and dreadful deed!
He clearly shows how Passion, Pride, and Lust,
Make Minds, heav'n-gifted, grovel in the dust;
Yet, oft exhibits Pow'r, when Age, and Youth,
Yea, ev'n weak Childhood, traces ways of Truth!
How, when His Word convicts, His Grace converts,
Conducts to Christ—condemns all self-deserts:
And, while that influence, Faith—Hope—Love, imparts,
Gives Heav'ns blest bias to all humbled Hearts!
With Might, resistless, turns Hell's strong Man out—
Governs tumultuous Passion's rabble-rout—
Reduces Lusts to simple Appetites,
And proves pure Temperance yields Lifes true delights!
Still checks, and mortifies, the pow'r of Pride—
Turning, tow'rds Heav'n, sublime, Ambition's tide—
Enlightening heav'nly Faith's pure visual pow'rs—
Points out the Saviour, and His promis'd dow'rs—
Expands the Spirit's clear, celestial, scope,
With elevated look still strengthening Hope;
And fills the Soul with sanctifying Love,
To fit each faculty for bliss above!

The weakest Christians, faithful when they fall,
Still feel that quickening Spirit's pow'rful call,
Which rouz'd, at first, the heav'n-illumin'd Race,
To fear the Father, and the Son embrace—
Will, thro' that filial fear, and grateful glow,
Still prove pure foretastes of true bliss below;
With full assurance, when their frames decay,
Each Soul shall still survive in endless day!
For tho' frail Friends may ne'er, thro' Pride, presume
To spread false praise, or build the boasting tomb;
Yet, in the list of Life each Name shall stand
Inscrib'd, in Heav'n, by God's paternal hand!
For, when the Body feels Death's full disgrace,
The Spirit must attain appropriate place—
That mix'd with homogeneal Parent Earth—
This go to Him who gave its Being birth—
While dust to dust, by gravitation, tends,
Spirit, spontaneous, to its Sire ascends!

FURTHER SERIOUS REFLECTIONS.

He, Nature's Ruler—Legislator—Cause—
Thro' all Creation acts by general Laws.
Earth—Water—Air—and Fire—all, freely, fly,
When disentangled, to the Earth, or Sky—
So, immaterial Spirit, needs must find
Its proper medium in paternal Mind.

Why should frail Man annihilation fear?
Matter's minutest parts ne'er perish here.
Each particle partakes corporeal Life,
In torpid state, or elemental strife.
Fix'd—fluid—scatter'd, or in masses run—
Planet, opaque—or lucid central Sun—
Inert, and passive, tide, and time, defy—
He, only, who created, can destroy.
Shall Agents, then, of wonderous pow'rs possess'd—
By Conscience—Will—and Understanding, bless'd—
Endued, distinctly, with apt pow'rs of Speech,
No other earthly Creature e'er can reach—
Still more distinct by superadded Sense,
Which tastes, alone, all Beauty's charms dispense.

Can compass all, with vast extent of thought,
Which God created, or Mankind hath wrought.
Unnumber'd Systems built in boundless space,
Or Arts atchieve, for glory—use—or grace.
Can attributes, and schemes, of Heav'n, conceive—
All Angels laud, or blessed Saints believe.
All truths that Revelation's code contains—
What Inspiration gives, or Reason gains—
Imagination shapes—or Knowledge knows—
Wit's Fancys form with grace, or Science, grows.
Shall He—shall godlike Man—on Earth, supreme!
With impotence despond? with dotage dream?
At once his Nature, and his God, forget;
And deem Death claims an everlasting debt?
A Being bless'd with force, and free to will,
Dread Non-existence should Existence kill!
Think Nothing's hand should Something's act erase!
Or pow'rful Essence sink absorb'd by Space!
That Chance or Accident should Choice devour!
Or inert Matter prop up active Pow'r?
No! He who Forms and Hues to Substance binds,
And Matter links to immaterial Minds—
Who thus can make such compound Natures known,
Can cause the sever'd Soul to live alone—
Destroy, by Truth, the fancied strength of Fate,
And give clear Consciousness in separate State.
Those Minds which animate, and move, the Clod,
Partake the Nature of their parent, God;
And must Identity most amply prove,
While by His Will they breathe, and live, and move!

Tho' mortal Man, who dreads his destin'd end,
Might, with full Trust, on such fair Truths depend,
Yet on much firmer base wise Christians build;
On wonders work'd, and prophecies fulfill'd;
Confirming fully Inspiration's page;
Distinct from dogmas of uncertain Sage—
From cunning Mahomet's imposing scheme,
Mysterious nonsense, and deluding dream;
Or bare assertions of deceptive Pope,
To found true Faith, or stablish holy Hope.
Here facts, historic, firm foundations lay,
Defying Foe's attacks, and Time's decay;
And while blest doctrines fence the dome about,
Innumerous miracles demolish doubt—
The superstructure perfect precepts rear—
Rich promises repel each faithless fear;
When Grace's top-stone plac'd, secure, on high,
The Fabric's fill'd with Peace, and Love, and Joy.

Within this Structure Man may rest at ease,
Prepar'd for all God's Providence decrees,
Till that bless'd Sovereign summons back his breath,
Then shout, in triumph, “Where's thy sting, O Death!
My Saviour Soul and Body both will save,
Then where's thy vaunted Victory, greedy Grave?”

Such blest reflections eas'd the burthen'd Swain—
Fed every transport—stifled every pain—
To gain that goal Faith gave Affection birth;
Pure Hope cast anchor far above the Earth—
While Piety made each meek Passion move,
To Duties, drawn by silken cords of Love—
And, while his limbs employ'd their youthful pow'rs,
Unnumber'd blessings hail'd his labouring hours!