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Where all my joys and wishes are confin'd,
Thou’rt day and life, and heav'n itself to me.

Come, my beloved, then let us repair

To those bleft seats where we'll our flames improve ;
Oh, with what heat shall I caress thée there !

And in sweet transports give up love.



Verses occafioned by hearing a pass-bell. By the Reverend

Mr. St-
But what's beyond death?.--Who shall draw that vail?

Hughes's frege of Damascus.
ARK, my gay friend, that folemn toll
Speaks the departure of


soul :

that's all we know.---not where,
Or how th' unbody'd soul does fare.

In that mysterious world none knows,
But God alone, to whom it goes ;
To whom departed souls return,
To take their doom, to smile or mourn.

Oh! by what glimm'ring light we view
The unknown world we're halt'ning to !
God has lock'd up the mystic page,
And curtain'd darkness round the stage !

Wise heav'n, to render search perplext,
Has drawn 'twixt this world and the next
A dark impenetrable screen,
All behind which is yet unseen!

We talk of heav'n, we talk of hell ;
But what they mean, no tongue can tell !
Heav'n is the realm where angels are,
And hell the chaos of despair !

But what these awful words imply,
None of us know before we die!
Whether we will or no, we must
Take the fucceeding world on trust.



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This hour perhaps our friend is well ; Death struck the next, he cries, farewell! I die !..--and then, for ought we see, Ceases at once to breath and be.

Thus launch'd from life's ambiguous shore,
Ingulph'd in death, appears no morc,
*Then undirected to repair
To distant worlds we know not where.

Swift dies the foul, perhaps 'tis gone
A thousand leagues beyond the sun ;
Or twice ten thousand more thrice told,
Ere the forsaken clay is cold !

yet who knows, if friends we lov’d, Tho' dead, may

be so far remov'd ? Only this vail of flesh between, Perhaps they watch us, tho' unseen.

Whilst we, their lofs lamenting, fay,
They're out of hearing, far away;
Guardians to us, perhaps they're near,
Conceal'd in vehicles of air.

And yet no notices they give,
Nor tell us where, nor how they live;
Tho' conscious, whilst with us below,
How much themselves desir'd to know;

As if bound up by folemn fate,
To keep this secret of their state,
To tell their joys or pains to none,
That man might live by faith alone.

Well let my sov’reign, if he please, Lock


his marvelous decrees, ' Why should I wish him to reveal What he thinks proper to conceal:

It is enough that I believe,
Heay'n's brighter than I can conceive :
And he that makes it all his care
To serve God here, shall see him there!

But oh! what worlds shall I survey,
The moment that I leave this clay?
How sudden the surprise, how new).
Let it, my God, be happy too. y


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