See how the bubbling springs of love
Beneath the throne arife;

The streams in crystal channels move,
Around the golden ftreets they rove,
And blefs the mansions of the upper fkies.
There a fair grove of knowledge grows,
Nor fin nor death infects the fruit;
Young life hangs fresh on all the boughs,
And fprings from every root;

Here may thy greedy senses feast
While extafy and health attends on every taste.
With the fair prospect charm'd I stood ;
Fearless I feed on the delicious fare,

And drink profuse falvation from the filver flood,
Nor can excess be there.

In facred order rang'd along
Saints new-releas'd by death

Join the bold feraph's warbling breath,

And aid th' immortal fong.
Each has a voice that tunes his ftrings
To mighty founds, and mighty things,
Things of everlafting weight,
Sounds, like the fofter viol, fweet,
And, like the trumpet, strong.
Divine attention held my foul,

I was all ear!

Through all my powers the heavenly accents roll,

I long'd and wifh'd my Bradbury there §.
"Could he but hear thefe notes, I faid,

"His tuneful foul would never bear

"The dull unwinding of life's tedious thread,
"But burft the vital chords to reach the happy dead."
And now my tongue prepares to join
The harmony, and with a noble aim
Attempts th' unutterable name,

But faints, confounded by the notes divine:
Again my foul th' unequal honour fought,
Again her utmost force the brought,
And bow'd beneath the burden of th' unwieldy thought.
Thrice I effay'd, and fainted thrice;
Th' immortal labour strain'd my feeble frame,
Broke the bright vifion, and diffolv'd the dream :
I funk at once and loft the fkies:

In vain I fought the scenes of light
Rolling abroad my longing eyes,

For all around them ftood my curtains and the night.

Strict Religion very rare.

M borne aloft, and leave the crowd,

I'M

I fail upon a morning cloud

Skirted with dawning gold:

Mine eyes beneath the opening day
Command the globe with wide furvey,
Where ants in bufy millions play,
And tug and heave the mould.

"Are these the things (my paffion cry’d)
"That we call men? Are thefe ally'd

"To

"To the fair worlds of light?

"They have ras'd out their Maker's name,
"Graven on their minds with pointed flame
"In strokes divinely bright.

"Wretches! they hate their native skies;
"If an ethereal thought arife,
"Or fpark of virtue shine,

"With cruel force they damp its plumes,
"Choke the young fire with fenfual fumes,
"With business, luft, or wine.

"Lo! how they throng with panting breath
"The broad defcending road
"That leads unerring down to death,

"Nor mifs the dark abode."

Thus while I drop a tear or two
On the wild herd, a noble few
Dare to ftray upward, and pursue
Th' unbeaten way to God.

I meet Myrtillo mounting high,
I know his candid foul afar;
Here Dorylus and Thyrfis fly
Each like a rifing star.
Charin I saw and Fidea there,

I faw them help each other's flight,
And bless them as they go;
They foar beyond my labouring fight,
And leave their loads of mortal care,

But not their love, below.

On heaven, their home, they fix their eyes,

The temple of their God:

With morning incense up they rise
Sublime, and through the lower skies
Spread the perfumes abroad.

Across the road a feraph flew,
"Mark, (faid he) that happy pair,
Marriage helps devotion there :

"When kindred minds their God pursue
"They break with double vigour through
"The dull incumbent air."

Charm'd with the pleasure and furprize,
My foul adores and fings,

"Bleft be the power that springs their flight,
"That streaks their path with heavenly light,
"That turns their love to facrifice,
"And joins their zeal for wings."

To Mr. C. and S. FLEETWOOD.

FLEETWOODS, young generous pair,
Defpife the joys that fools purfue;

Bubbles are light and brittle too,

Born of the water and the air.

Try'd by a standard bold and just
Honour and gold and paint and duft;
How vile the laft is, and as vain the first!
Things that the crowd call great and brave,
With me how low their value 's brought!

Titles and names, and life and breath,
Slaves to the wind and born for death;
The foul's the only thing we have
Worth an important thought.

The foul! 'tis of th' immortal kind,

Nor form'd of fire, or earth, or wind,

[behind.

Out-lives the mouldering corpfe, and leaves the globe

In limbs of clay though she appears,

Array'd in rofy skin, and deck'd with ears and eyes,

The flesh is but the foul's difguife,

There's nothing in her frame kin to the dress she wears :
From all the laws of matter free,
From all we feel, and all we fee,

She ftands eternally distinct, and muft for ever be.

Rife then, my thoughts, on high, Soar beyond all that 's made to die; Lo! on an awful throne

Sits the Creator and the Judge of fouls,

Whirling the planets round the poles,

Winds off our threads of life, and brings our periods on. Swift the approach, and folemn is the day,

When this immortal mind

Stript of the body's coarse array

To endless pain, or endless joy,
Must be at once confign'd.

Think of the fands run down to waste,
We poffefs none of all the past,

None