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Grace makes the slave a freeman. "Tis a change, That turns to ridicule the turgid speech And stately tone of moralifts, who boast, As if, like him of fabulous renown, They had indeed ability to smooth The shag of lavage nature, and were each An Orpheus, and omnipotent in song: But transformation of apoftate man From fool to wife, from earthly to divine,

Is work for Him that made him. He alone, 'And he by means in philofophic eyes

Trivial and worthy of disdain, achieves
The wonder; humanizing what is brute
In the loft kind, extracting from the lips
Of alps their venom, overpowering strength
By weakness, and hoftility by love.

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He is the freeman whom the truth makes free, And all are flaves beside. There's not a chain That hellish foes, confederate for his harm, Can wind around him, but he cafts it off With as much ease as Samson his green wyths. He looks abroad into the varied field Of nature, and though poor perhaps, compared With those whose manfions glitter in his fight, Calls the delightful scenery all his own. His are the mountains, and the vallies his, And the resplendent rivers. His to enjoy With a propriety that none can feel, But who, with filial confidence inspired, Can lift to heaven an unpresumptuous eye, And smiling fay" My Father made them all."

* Sec Hume,

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