This day, be Bread and Peace my Lot: 50

All elfe beneath the Sun,

Thou know'ft if beft beftow'd or not,

And let Thy Will be done.

To thee, whofe Temple is all Space,
Whofe Altar, Earth, Sea, Skies !
One Chorus let all Being raife!

All Nature's Incense rise !'

The DYING CHRISTIAN

V

To his SOUL.

ODE".

I.

ITAL fpark of heav'nly flame,
Quit, oh quit this mortal frame:
Trembling, hoping, ling'ring, flying,
Oh the pain, the blifs of dying!
Ceafe, fond Nature, cease thy ftrife,
And let me languish into life.

II.

Hark! they whifper; Angels fay,
Sifter Spirit, come away.
What is this abforbs me quite ?

Steals my fenfes, fhuts my fight,
Drowns my fpirits, draws my breath?
Tell me, my Soul, can this be Death?

NOTES.

a This Ode was written in imitation of the famous fonnet of Hadrian to his departing foul; but as much fuperior to his original, in fenfe and fublimity, as the Chriftian Religion is to the Pagan.

4

III.

The world recedes; it difappears!
Heaven opens on my eyes my ears
With founds feraphic rings:
Lend, lend your wings! I mount! I fly !
O Grave! where is thy victory?
O Death! where is thy Sting?

FINI S.