But martyrs struggle for a brighter prize,

And win it with more pain. Their blood is shed
In conformation of the noblest claim,

Our claim to feed upon immortal truth,
To walk with God, to be divinely free,,,
To soar, and to anticipate the skies.

Yet few remember them. They lived unknown
Till persecution dragged them into fame,

And chased them up to heaven. Their ashes flew
-No marble tells us whither. With their names
No bard embalms and sanctifies his song:
And history, so warm on meaner themes,"
Is cold on this. She execrates indeed
The tyranny, that doomed them to the fire,
But gives the glorious sufferers little praise

He is the freeman whom the truth makes free, And all are slaves beside. There's not a chain That hellish foes, confederate for his harm,nj Can wind around him, but he casts 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 mansions glitter in his sight,
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,

* See Hume.

Can lift to heaven an unpresumptuous eye,
And smiling sayMy Father made them all!"
Are they not his by a peculiar right,'

And by an emphasis of interest his,

Whose eye they fill with tears of holy joy,

Whose heart with praise, and whose exalted mind
With worthy thoughts of that unwearied love,
That planned, and built, and still upholds, a world
So clothed with beauty for rebellious man?
Yes-ye may fill your garners, ye that reap
The loaded soil, and ye may waste much good
In senseless riot; bat ye will not find
In feast or in the chase, in song or dance,
A liberty like bis, who, unimpeached
Of usurpation, and to no man's wrong,
Appropiates nature as his Father's work,
And has a richer use of your's than you a
He is indeed a freeman.. Free by birth
Of no mean city; planned or ere the hills
Were built, the fountains opened, or the sea
With all his roaring multitude of waves,
His freedom is the same in every state;
And no condition of this changeful life,
So manifold in cares, whose every day
Brings its own evil with it, makes it less:
For he has wings, that neither sickness, pain,
Nor penury, can cripple or confine.

No nook so narrow but he spreads them there
With ease, and is at large. The oppressor holds
His body bound; but knows not what a range

His spirit takes, unconscious of a chain;
And that to bind him is a vain attempt
Whom God delights in, and in whom he dwells.
Acquaint thyself with God, if thou wouldest taste
His works. Admitted once to his embrace,
Thou shalt perceive that thou wast blind before:
Thine eye shall be instructed; and thine heart
Made pure shall relish, with divine delight
'Till then unfelt, what hands divine have wrought.
Brutes graze the mountain-top, with faces prone
And eyes intent upon the scanty herb,

It yields them; or recumbent on its brow
Ruminate heedless of the scene outspread
Beneath, beyond, and stretching far away
From inland regions to the distant main.
Man views it, and admires; but rests content
With what he views. The landscape has his praise,
But not its author. Unconcerned who formed
The paradise he sees, he finds it such,

And such well-pleased to find it, asks no more.
Not so the mind, that has been touched from heaven,
And in the school of sacred wisdom taught
To read his wonders, in whose thought the world,
Fair as it is, existed ere it was.

Not for his own sake merely, but for his

Much more, who fashioned it, he gives it praise;
Praise that from earth resulting, as it ought,
To earth's acknowledged sovereign, finds at once,
Its only just proprietor in Him.

The soul that sees him, or receives sublimed

New faculties, or learns at least to employ
More worthily the powers she owned before,
Discerns in all things what, with stupid gaze
Of ignorance, till then she overlooked,
A ray of heavenly ligt gilding all forms
Terrestrial in the vast and the minute;
The unambiguous footsteps of the God,
Who gives its lustre to an insect's wing,
And wheels his throne upon the rolling worlds.
• Much conversant with heaven, she often holds
With those fair ministers of light to man,
That fill the skies nightly with silent pomp,
Sweet conference. Inquires what strains were they
With which heaven rang, when every star, in haste
To gratulate the new-created earth,

Sent forth a voice, and all the sons of God
Shouted for joy.-"Tell me, ye shining hosts,
"That navigate a sea that knows no storms,
"Beneath a vault unsullied with a cloud,
"If from your elevation, whence ye view

Distinctly scenes invisible to man,

"And systems, of whose birth no tidings yet

Have reached this nether world, ye spy a race "Favoured as our's; transgressors from the womb, "And hasting to a grave, yet doomed to rise, "And to possess a brighter heaven than your's? "As one, who long detained on foreign shores, Pants to return, and when he sees afar

"His country's weather-bleach'd and batter'd rocks, From the green wave emerging, darts an eye

"Radiant with joy towards the happy land; "So I with animated hopes behold,

"And many an aching wish, your beamy fires,
"That show like beacons in the blue abyss,
"Ordained to guide the embodied spirit home
"From toilsome life to never-ending rest.
"Love kindles as I gaze. I feel desires,
"That give assurance of their own success,
"And that infused from heaven must thither tend."
So reads he nature, whom the lamp of truth
Illuminates. Thy lamp, mysterious word!
Which whoso sees no longer wanders lost,
With intellects bemazed in endless doubt,
But runs the road of wisdom. Thou hast built
With means, that were not till by thee employed,
Worlds, that had never been hadst thou in strength
Been less, or less benevolent than strong.

They are thy witnesses, who speak thy power
And goodness infinite, but speak in ears,
That hear not, or receive not their report.
In vain thy creatures, testify of thee,
Till thou proclaim thyself. Their's is indeed
A teaching voice; but 'tis the praise of thine,
That whom it teaches it makes prompt to learn,
And with the boon gives talents for its use.
Till thou art heard, imaginations vain
Possess the heart, and fables false as hell;
Yet, deemed oracular, lure down to death
The uninformed and heedless souls of men.
We give to chance, blind chance, ourselves as blind,