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SoME go to church just for a walk,
Some go there to laugh and talk,
Some go there the time to spend,
Some go there to meet a friend,
Some go to learn the parson's name,
Some go there to wound his fame,
Some go there for speculation,
Some go there for observation,
Some go there to doze and nod,
But few go there to worship God.


CoNTENTMENT, parent of delight,
So much a stranger to our sight,
Say, goddess, in what happy place,
Mortals behold thy blooming face;
Thy gracious auspices impart,
And for thy temple choose my heart.
They whom thou deignest to inspire,
Thy science learn, to bound desire;
#. happy alchymy of mind,
ey turn to pleasure all they find.

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WITH every pleasing, every prudent part,

Say, “ j. §. . po wants a heart.

She speaks, behaves, and acts just as she ought;

But never, never reach'd one generous thought.

Yirtue she finds too painful an endeavour,

Qontent to dwell in decencies for ever.
Very reasonable, so unmoved,

As never yet to love, or to be loved.



EveR charming, ever new,
When will the landscape tire the view?
The fountains fall, the rivers flow,
The woody valleys, warm and low,
The windy summit, wild and high,
Roughly rushing on the sky! -
The pleasant seat, the ruin’d tower,
The naked rock, the shady bower,
The town and village, dome and farm,
Each gave each a double charm,
As pearls upon an Ethiop's arm. ...

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It was in this lone valley she would charm
The ling'ring noon, where flowers a couch had

strewn ;
Her cheek reclining, and her snowy arm
On hillock by the palm-tree half o'ergrown:
And aye that volume on her lap is thrown,
Which every heart of human mould endears;
With Shakspeare's self she speaks and smiles alone,
And no intruding visitation fears,
To shame th' unconscious laugh, or stop her sweetest



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Above all things raillery decline, Nature but few does for that task design; *Fis in the ablest hands a dangerous tool, But nover fails to wound the meddling fool;

For all must grant it needs no common art
To keep men patient when we make them smart,
No wit alone, nor humour's self will do.
Without good nature, and much prudence too,
To judge aright of persons, place, and time;
For taste decrees what's low, and what's sublime; t
And what might charm to-day, or o'er a glass,
Perhaps at court, or next day, would not pass.


STUDY, with care, politeness, that must teach
The modish forms of gesture and of speech:
In vain formality with matron mien,
And pertness apes with her familiar grin:
They against nature for applauses strain,
Distort themselves, and give all others pain;
She moves with easy though with measured pace,
And shows no part of o but the grace.


“Passing away is written on the world, and all the world contains.”

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It is written on the trees
As their young leaves glist'ning play;

And on the brighter things than these–
“Passing away.”

It is written on the brow
Where the spirit's ardent ray

Lives, burns, and triumphs now—
“Passing away.”

It is written on the heart—
Alas! that there decay

Should claim from love a part!
“Passing away.”

Friends, friends! oh! shall we meet
Where the spoiler finds no prey,

Where lovely things and sweet
Pass not away?

Shall we know each other's eyes,
With the thoughts that in them lay,

When they meet beneath the skies
Which pass away ?

Oh! if this may be so,
Speed, speed, thou closing day!
How blest, from earth's vain show,
To pass away.


BEHOLD that Book, o'er which, from ancient time,
Sad penitence hath pour'd the prayerful breath,
And meek devotion bow’d with joy sublime,
And Nature arm'd her for the strife of death,
And trembling Hope renew'd her wreath divine, .
And Faith an anchor gain'd :—that holy Book is thine.
Behold the Book-whose sacred truths to spread,
Christ's heralds toil beneath a foreign sky,
Pouring its blessings o'er the heathen's head,
A martyr-courage kindling in their eye.
Wide o'er the globe its glorious light must shine,
As so the arch of heaven:-that holy Book is

Here search with humble heart, and ardent eye,
Where plants of peace, in bloom celestial grow,
Here breathe to Mercy's ear the contrite sigh,
And bid the soul's unsullied fragrance flow,
To Him who shuts the rose at even-tide, -
And opes its dewy eye when earliest sunbeams glide.

May heaven's pure spirit touch hy youthful heart,
And guide thy feet through life's eventful lot,
That when from this illusive scene I part,
And in my grave lie mould'ring and forgot,
This my first gift, like golden link may join
Thee to that angel-band around the throne divine.
MRs. Sigour.NEY.


“One struggle more, and I am free.”

LEAVE me, oh! leave me!—unto all below, Thy presence binds me with too deep a spell, ou makest these mortal regions, whence I go, Too mighty in their loveliness—farewell, That I may part in peace.

Leave me! thy footstep with its lightest sound,
The very shadow of thy waving hair,
Wake in my soul a feeling too profound,
Too strong, for aught that loves and dies, to bear.
Oh! bid the conflict cease!

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