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Linnets with unnumber'd notes,

And the cuckow-bird with two, Tuning fweet their mellow throats, Bid the fetting fun adieu.

Lo

THE

MATRON's EPITAPH.

BY GRAY.

O! where this filent marble weeps, A friend, a wife, a mother fleeps, A heart, within whofe facred cell The peaceful virtues lov'd to dwell. Affection warm, and faith fincere. And foft humanity were there. In agony, in death refign'd, She felt the wound fhe left behind. Her infant image, here below,

Sits fmiling on a father's woe :

Whom what awaits, while yet he strays

Along the lonely vale of days?
A pang to fecret forrow dear;
A figh; an unavailing tear :
Till time shall ev'ry grief remove,

With life, with memory, and with love,

CHARITY.

BY PRIOR,

ID fweeter founds adorn my flowing tongue,
Than ever man pronounc'd, or angel fung:

Had I all knowledge, human and divine,
That thought can reach, or fcience can define;
And had I power to give that knowledge birth,
In all the fpeeches of the babbling earth;
Did Shadrach's zeal my glowing breast inspire,
To weary tortures, and rejoice in fire;
Or had I faith like that which Ifrael faw,
When Mofes gave them miracles and law;
Yet gracious Charity, indulgent guest,
Were not thy pow'r exerted in my breaft,
Thofe fpeeches would fend up unheeded pray'r
That fcorn of life would be but wild defpair:
A tymbal's found were better than my voice:
My faith were form: my eloquence were noise,
Charity, decent modeft, easy, kind,

Softens the high, and rears the abject mind;
Knows with juft reins, and gentle hand to guide
Betwxit vile fhame, and arbitrary pride.
Not foon provok'd, fhe eafily forgives,
And much the fuffers, as the much believes.
Soft peace the brings where-ever the arrives:
She builds our quiet as fhe forms our lives:

Lays the rough paths of peevith nature even;
And opens in each heart a little heav'n;

Each other gift, which God on man bestows,
Its proper bounds, and due restriction knows ;
To one fixt purpose dedicates its pow'r ;
And finishing its act, exifts no more.
Thus in obediences to what Heav'n decrees,
Knowledge fhall fail, and prophecy shall cease:
But lafting Charity's more ample sway,
Nor bound by time, nor fubject to decay,
In happy triumph fhall for ever live,

And endless good diffuse, and endless praise receive. As through the artist's intervening glass,

Our eye obferves the diftant planets pass;

A little we difcover; but allow,

That more remains unfeen, than art can fhow;
So whilst our minds its knowledge would improve
(It's feeble eye intent on things above)

High as we may, we lift our reason up,
By Faith directed, and confirm'd by Hope!
Yet are we able only to furvey

Dawnings of beams, and promifes of day.
Heav'ns fuller effluence mocks our dazzled fight;
Too great its swiftness, and too strong its light.
But foon' the mediate clouds fhall be difpell'd:
The fun fhall foon be face to face beheld,
In all his robes with all his glory on
Seated fublime on his meridian throne,

Then conftant Faith, and holy Hope fhall die One loft in certainty, and one in joy:

Whilft thou, more happy pow'r, fair charity,
Triumphant fifter, greatest of the three,
Thy office and thy nature ftill the fame,
Lafting thy lamp, and unconfum'd thy flame.
Shalt ftill furvive.

Shalt ftand before the host of hea'vn confeft,
For ever bleffing, and for ever bleft.

RELIGION AND

BY COTTON.

O! a form divinely bright

DEATH.

L Dercents, my fight:

A feraph of illuftrious birth!

(Religion was her name on earth :)

Supremely sweet her radiant face,

And blooming with celestial grace !

Three fhining cherubs form'd her train,

Wav'd their light wings, and reach'd the plain:
Faith, with fublime and piercing eye,

And pinions flutt'ring for the sky;
Here Hope that smiling angel, ftands,
And golden anchors grace her hands;
There Charity, in robes of white,
Faireft fav'rite maid of light:

The feraph fpake

Tis Reafon's part
To govern and to guard the heart;
To lull the way ward foul to reft,
When hopes and fears diftract the breaft.
Reason may calm this doubtful strife,
And fteer thy bark through various life:
But when the ftorms of death are nigh,
And midnight darkness veils the fky,
• Shall Reafon then direct thy fail,
• Desperse the clouds, or fink the gale?
Stranger, this skill alone is mine,
Skill that tranfcends his fcanty line.
Revere thyself thou'rt near ally'd
To angels on thy better fide.

How various e'er their ranks or kinds, 'Angels are but unbodied minds:

When the partition walls decay, 'Men emerge angels from their clay. Yes, when the frailer body dies,

The fon! afferts her kindred fkies.

But minds, though fprung from heav'nly race,

Muft first be tutor'd for the place. (The joys above are understood, And relish'd only by the good.) Who shall affume this guardian care; "Who fhall fecure their birth-right there? Souls are my charge-to me 'tis giv'n To train them for their native heav'n.

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