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Tremble, ye pageants of a day,
Form'd like your slaves of brittle clay,
Down to the dust your sceptres bend:
To everlasting years he reigns,
When kings, and suns, and time shall end. No stranger thou, to every fear
That shakes th' inhabitant of clay; So shall his favour'd Zion live; For sorrow's stormy cloud its torrent shed, In vain confed'rate nations strive And aim'd its thunders at thy guiltless head.
Her sacred turrets tu destroy ;
Her sov'reign sits enthron'd above, The thorns that pierc'd thy bleeding brow, And endless pow'r, and endless love Wound, as I pass, my pilgrim feet;
Ensure her safety, and her joy.
Happy me! O happy sheep!
Come now all ye terrors, sally,
Thou sacred light, that right from wroog discerns ;
Thou safeguard of the soul, thou heaven on earth ;
Thou disregarder of its joys and mirth;
Thou prop by which the pilgrim's woes are borne;
That beds him down to rest on fate's sharp thoru ;
Thou voice of mercy when the weary call;
Thou peace, thou rest, thou comfort, all in all :
A RECEIPT FOR HAPPINESS. Lo! in the mantling bowl sweet poisons
Love's softest pleasures terminate in wo; TRAVERSE the world, go fly from pole to Even learning ends her vast career in doubt, pole,
And puzzling on makes nothing clearly out : Go far as winds can blow or waters roll, Where then is sov'reign bliss ? Where doth An, all is vanity, beneath the sun,
it grow? To certain death through diff'rent paths we Know, mortal! happiness ne'er dwelt berun.
low. See the pale miser poring o'er his gold; Look towards Heav'n, be Heav'n thy only See there a galley-slave to misery sold !
care ; Ambition's votries groan beneath its weight, Spurn the vile earth-go seek thy treasure The splendid victim of the toils of state.
TRUE AND FALSE GAIETY. I question's FRIENDSHIP: FRIENDSHIP
sigh'd, COW PER.
And thus her answer gave Wuom call we gay? That honour has long The few whom fortune never torn'd been
Were wither'd in the grave !
I ask'd if VICe could bliss bestow?
Vice boasted loud and well,
The borrowed roses fell.
I sought of FEBLING, if her skill
Could soothe the wounded breast; Whose headachs nail them to a noonday bed; And found her mourning, faint, and still, And save me tou from theirs, whose hag
For others' woes distress'd! gard eyes Flash desperation, and betray their pangs,
I question'd VIRTUE: Virtue sigh'd, For property stripp'd off by cruel chance ;
No boon could she dispense-, From gaiety, that fills the bones with pain, Nor virtue was her dame, she cried, The mouth with blasphemy, the heart with
But humble penitence.
Can God, I thought, the just, the great,
These meaner creatores bless, And yet deny to man's estate
The boon of happiness ?
Tell me, ye woods, ye smiling plains,
Ye blessed birds around,
Can bliss for man be found!
How long, ye miserably blind,
The birds wild carollid over head,
The breeze around me blew, And nature's awful chorus said
No bliss for man she knew.
I question's Love, whose early ray
So rosy bright appears,
His light was dimm'd by tears.