An African Prince being asked, what he had given for his Watch replied, "What I will never give again-I gave a fine Boy for it."
WHEN avarice enslaves the mind,
And selfish views alone bear sway;
Man turns a savage to his kind,
And blood and rapine mark his way:
Alas! for this poor simple toy,
I sold a blooming Negro Boy.
His father's hope, his mother's pride;
Tho' black, yet comely to their view;
I tore him helpless from their side,
And gave him to a ruffian crew:
To fiends that Afric's coast annoy,
I sold the blooming Negro Boy.
From country, friends, and parents torn,
His tender limbs in chains confin'd,
I saw him o'er the billows borne,
And mark'd his agony of mind:
But still to gain this simple toy,
I gave away the Negro Boy.
In isles that deck the western wave,
I doom'd the hopeless youth to dwell;
A poor forlorn insulted slave,
A beast that Christians buy and sell:
And in their cruel tasks employ,
The much-enduring Negro Boy.
His wretched parents long shall mourn;
Shall long explore the distant main,
In hopes to see the youth return;
But all their hopes and sighs are vain :
They never shall the sight enjoy,
Of their lamented Negro Boy.
Beneath a tyrant's harsh command,
He wears away his youthful prime,
Far distant from his native land,
A stranger in a foreign clime:
No pleasing thoughts his mind employ,
A poor dejected Negro Boy.
But He who walks upon the wind,
Whose voice in thunder's heard on high,
Who doth the raging tempest bind,
Or wing the light'ning thro' the sky,
In his own time will soon destroy
The' oppressors of the Negro Boy.
WHAT must it be to dwell above,
At God's right hand, where Jesus reigns, Since the sweet earnest of his love O'erwhelms us on these dreary plains; No heart can think, no tongue explain, What bliss it is with Christ to reign.
When sin no more obstructs our sight; When sorrow pains our hearts no more; How shall we view the Prince of Light, And all his works of grace explore! What heights and depths of love divine Will there through endless ages shine!
"Tis heaven on earth to hear him say,
By the sweet Gospel's blissful sound,
"Poor sinner, cast thy doubts away,
Thou soon shalt be with glory crown'd,
And that bright crown shall never fade,
But shine immortal on thy head."
But oh! what music must it be
To hear his kind inviting voice
Sound from the throne, to welcome me,
While all the heavenly hosts rejoice,
To see a soul redeem'd from hell,
And rais'd with God and saints to dwell!
Well, he has fix'd the happy day,
When the last tears will wet our eyes,
And God shall wipe those tears away,
And fill us with divine surprize.
To hear his voice, and see his face,
And feel his infinite embrace!
This is the heaven I long to know;
For this with patience I would wait,
Till, wean'd from earth, and all below,
I mount to my celestial seat;
And wave my palm, and wear my crown,
And, with the elders, cast them down.
"And they, with one consent, began to make excuse."
GOD makes a feast, and bids his creatures come;
But strange excuses keep the most at home.
Some are too busy to partake the treat,
And some too idle e'en to rise to eat.
Some too well settled to seek endless rest,
And some too happy to be truly blest.
Some are too learned to be really wise,
And some too rich the pearl of price to prize.
Some are too knowing Wisdom's voice to' attend,
And some too stupid truth to comprehend.
Some are too bold the God of heaven to dread,
And some too timid duty's path to tread.
Some are too good free mercy to receive,
And some too bad their wickedness to leave.
"Tis yet too soon, says youth in vig'rous bloom,
To waste my time in dull religious gloom;
While bustling manhood pleads for short delay,
'Tis time enough-I'll seize a future day.
E'en wither'd age still asks a longer date,
And then exclaims, Alas! 'tis now too late.
Happy the youth to early zeal inclin'd,
Whose God delights and awes his op'ning mind:
The man who first pursues the world above,
Then leaves the rest to his Creator's love :
The hoary saint, with honour'd age opprest,
Who quits his load, and wings his way to rest,
Who timely comes, the meanest and the least,
Shall find a welcome to the Gospel-feast,
How short is the lot of a man,
How soon his frail life must decay!
At best but the length of a span,
And fades like a short winter's day.
In youth, how forgetful he seems
Of age, that's still hurrying on;
At length he awakes from his dreams,
But ah! his best moments are gone!
Then hurried away with his cares,
His life is but labour and pain;
Old age is the garment he wears;
He wishes for youth, but in vain.
Now crush'd with the load of his sin,
He trembles at death's cold alarms;
But just recollects where he's been,
And yields to the conqueror's arms.
But reason no farther can go;
He stands at the bar of his God:
Now sinks to the region of woe;
Or heaven he makes his abode.
Let youth then no longer delay,
Since time makes so rapid a flight;
If you work while it's called to-day,
You may hail the approaches of night.
NATURE, attend! join, every living soul,
Beneath the spacious temple of the sky,
In adoration join, and, ardent, raise
One general song! To him, ye vocal gales,
Breathe soft, whose spirit in your freshness breathes:
Oh, talk of Him in solitary glooms!.
Where, o'er the rock, the scarcely waving pine
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