And in his great afcent the proof fupreme

Of Immortality.

O

YOUNG.

ON REDEMPTION.

WHAT a fcale of miracles is here!

Its lowest round high planted on the skies; Its tow'ring fummit loft beyond the thought Of man or angel! O that I could climb. The wonderful afcent with equal praise ! Praise flow for ever (if aftonishment

Will give thee leave;) my Praife, for ever flow! Praife, ardent, cordial, conftant; to high

Heav'n

More fragrant than Arabia facrific'd,

And all her spicy mountains in a flame.

IN

REMARKS

YOUNG.

ON THE NIGHT THOUGHTS.

N his Night Thoughts, Dr. YoUNG has exhibited a very wide difplay of original Poetry, variegated with deep reflections and ftriking allufions. A wilderness of thought, in which the fertility of fancy fcatters flowers of every hue and of every odor. This is one of the very few Poems in which blank verfe could not be changed for rhyme but with disadvantage. Particular lines are not to be regarded-the power is in the whole. There is a magnificence, like that afcribed to Chinese plantations; the mag

nificence of vaft extent and endless variety. There is a power of the pathetic beyond almoft any example that I have ever feen. To all the other excellencies, let me add the great and peculiar one; they contain not only the nobleft fentiments of virtue, and the immortality of the foul, but the Divine Propitiation.

No book whatever, can be recommended to young perfons with better hopes of feasoning their minds with vital religion, than YOUNG'S Night Thoughts.

BOSWELL.

PART OF AN

ODE TO THE LILY.

IFT up thy head, pure Lily, bare thy blamelefs breaft,

Abafh'd ye Rofes, bow, and lower your lofty crest!

He who adorn'd the earth, with all its grand attirė.

Since man, rafh man, dar'd disobedient prove, To pledge his pardon and allure his love, Came down a perfect pattern to supply,

For thoughtless, thankless man to live and die; To fill his heart with grace divine,

To make his fpirit fpotlefs fhine

In perfect purity, like thine!

He chofe thee out from all the gifted train, With which he paints the flow'r-embroider'd plain,

To prove that e'en an Eastern king,
Array'd in all that dext'rous art can bring,
Compar'd with thee, is held in fcorn,
Lovely Lily, heaven-born!

Still more, to make thy beauties bright,
He plac'd thy charms in pious light,
All rais'd by Virtue to the utmoft height!
By thee, meek emblem, anxious cares to chide,
And check the frail futility of pride,

To banish fear and doubt unjuft,

And raise our hopes above the duft,
To wipe away each useless tear,

And point ambition to its proper fphere;
To bend our cares to objects more fublime,
Beyond the wrecks of change, and wear of time,
Where thy tranfplanted blooms tranfcendant

blow,

Enrobing raptur'd Saints in liveries of fnow!

WOODHOUSE.

LET night, let morn, let clouds, let fun, let

flow'rs

To giddy mortals fome great truth convey; Behold man's little life, his morn, his hours, Scarce reaching up to noon, he fades away!

May I rife with a Bethle'em ftar on my head, And a paffion-flow'r mantle around me befpread! Dr. S. HoDSON'S*

* From MORNING, a Nofegay.
Q

O

FAITH.

MATCHLESS Faith! What mighty pow'r is thine!

Thou grace omnipotent! thou fource divine! Thy facred impulfe made a Peter brave

The rufhing vengeance of the fwelling waveAt once could draw his doubting heart to thee, And straight confolidate the liquid fea!

Will the great God,

Who thus by annual miracle, reftores

GILES.

The perifh'd year, and youth and beauty gives,
By refurrection ftrange, where none was afk'd,
Leave only man to be the fcorn of time
And sport of death? Shall only he one Spring,
One hafty Summer, and one Autumn fee,
And then to Winter irredeemable

Be doom'd? Caft out, rejected, and defpis'd?
Tell me not fo, or by thyfelf enjoy

The melancholy thought.

If I err,

It is an error fweet and lucrative!

But I fhall live again

And ftill on that fweet hope my foul fhall feed;

A medicine it is which with a touch

Heals all the pains of life.

HURDIS.

But, at the fignal giv'n, this earth and fea
Shall fet their fleeping vaffais free,

And the belov'd of God,

The faithful and the juft,

Like Aaron's chofen rod,

Though dry, fhall bloffom in the duft. Then gladly bounding from their dark restraints, Though moulder'd, brighten into faints,

And from mortality refin'd, shall rise

To meet their Saviour in the skies.

Hence ye that doubt

FENTON.

Each foul fhall have a body ready furnish'd,
And each fhall have his own-

Afk not-how this can be? Sure the fame Pow'r
That rear'd the piece at first, and took it down,
Can re-affemble the loose scatter'd parts,
And put them as they were. Almighty God
Has done much more, nor is his arm impair'd
Through length of days; and what he can, he
will:

His faithfulness ftands bound to fee it done.
When the dread Trumpet founds, the flumb'ring

duft,

Not inattentive to the call, fhall wake,
And ev'ry joint poffefs its proper place,*
With a new elegance of form, unknown
To its firft ftate:

BLAIR.

THE

RESURRECTION.

IKE the Seed to earth confign'd,
Or like dead Lazarus confin'd;

* To every Seed his own body, I Corinthians XV. 38,
Contemplate the Carrot Seed.