De sacris autem hæc sit una sententia, ut conserventur.
But let us all concur in this one sentiment, that things sacred be inviolate.
He lives, who lives to God alone,
And all are dead beside;
For other source than God is none,
Whence life can be supplied.
To live to God is to requite
His love as best we may;
To make his precepts our delight,
His promises our stay.
But life, within a narrow ring
Of giddy joys compris'd,
Is falsely nam'd, and no such thing,
But rather death disguis'd.
Can life in them deserve the name,
Who only live to prove
For what poor toys they can disclaim
An endless life above?
Who, much diseas'd, yet nothing feel;
Much menac'd, nothing dread;
Have wounds, which only God can heal,
Yet never ask his aid?
Who deem his house a useless place,
Faith, want of common sense;
And ardour in the Christian race,
A hypocrite's pretence ?
Who trample order; and the day
Which God asserts his own,
Dishonour with unhallow'd play,
And worship chance alone?
If scorn of God's commands, impress'd
On word and deed, imply
The better part of man unbless'd
With life that cannot die:
Such want it, and that want, uncured
Till man resigns his breath,
Speaks him a criminal, assur'd
Of everlasting death.
Sad period to a pleasant course!
Yet so will God repay
Sabbaths profan'd without remorse,
And mercy cast away.
FOR THE USE OF THE SUNDAY SCHOOL AT OLNEY.
HEAR, Lord, the song of praise and prayer
In heaven thy dwelling place,
From infants made the public care,
And taught to seek thy face.
Thanks for thy word and for thy day,
And grant us, we implore,
Never to waste in sinful play
Thy holy sabbaths more.
Thanks that we hear-but oh! impart
To each desires sincere,
That we may listen with our heart,
And learn as well as hear.
For if vain thoughts the minds engage Of older far than we,
What hope that, at our heedless age, Our minds should e'er be free?
Much hope, if thou our spirit take
Under thy gracious sway,
Who canst the wisest wiser make,
And babes as wise as they.
Wisdom and bliss thy word bestows, A sun that ne'er declines,
And be thy mercies shower'd on those Who placed us where it shines,
ADDRESTED TO LADY HESKETH.
THIS cap that so stately appears,
With ribbon-bound tassel on high,
Which seems by the crest that it rears,
Ambitious of brushing the sky:
This cap to my cousin I own,
She gave it, and gave me beside,
Wreath'd into an elegant bow,
The ribbon with which it is tied.
This wheel-footed studying chair,
Contriv'd both for toil and repose,
Wide elbow'd and wadded with hair,
In which I doth scribble and dose,
Bright studded, to dazzle the eyes,
And rival in lustre of that
In which, or astronomy lies,
Fair Cassiopeia sat.
These carpets so soft to the foot,
Caledonia's traffic and pride!
Oh spare them, ye knights of the boot,
Escap'd from a cross country ride!
This table and mirror within,
Secure from collision and dust,
At which I oft shave cheek and chin,
And periwig nicely adjust.
This moveable structure of sheives,
For its beauty admired and its use,
And charg'd with octavos and twelves,
The gayest I had to produce;
Where, flaming in scarlet and gold,
My poems enchanted I view,
And hope in due time to behold
My Iliad and Odyssey too.
This china that decks the alcove,
Which here people call a buffet,
But what the gods call it above,
Has ne'er been reveal'd to us yet.
These curtains that keep the room warm
Or cool, as the season demands;
Those stoves, that for pattern and form,
Seem the labour of Mulciber's hands.
All these are not half what I owe
To One, from our earliest youth
To me ever ready to show
Benignity, friendship, and truth;
For Time the destroyer declar'd
And foe of our perishing kind,
If even her face he has spared
Much less could he alter her mind.
Thus compass'd about with the goods
And chattels of leisure and ease,
J indulge my poetical moods
In many such fancies as these;
And fancies I fear they will seem-
Poets' goods are not always so fine;
The poets will swear that I dream,
When I sing of the splendour of mine.
THE NIGHT OF THE 17th OF MARCH, 1760.
WHEN, long sequestered from his throne,
George took his seat again,
By right of worth, not blood alone,
Entitled her to reign:
Then Loyalty, with all his lamps
New trimmed, a gallant show!
Chasing the darkness and the damps,
Set London in a glow,
Twas hard to tell of streets and squares,
Which form'd the chief display,
These most resembling clustered stars,
Those the long milky way.
Light shone the roofs, the domes, the spires,
And rockets flew, self-driven,
To hang their momentary fires
Amid the vault of heaven.
So fire with water to compare,
The ocean serves, on high
Up-spouted by a whale in air,
To express unwieldy joy,
Had all the pageants of the world
In one procession join'd,
And all the banners been unfurled
That heralds e'er designed;
For no such sight had England's Queen
Forsaken her retreat,
Where, George recovered, made a scene
Sweet always, doubly sweet.
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