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the power of God unto salvation to every one that believeth. It has reconciled us to God, and to our.selves, to our duty, and our situation. It is the balm and cordial of the present life, and a sovereign antidote against the fear of death.

. . Sed hactenus hæc. Some smaller pieces upon Jess important subjects close the volume. Not one of them, I believe, was written with a view, to publication, but I was unwilling they should be omitted.

JOHN NEWTON. Charles Square, Hoxton,

February 18, 1782.

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a. You told me, I remember, glory, built On selfish principles, is shame and guilt ; The deeds, that men admire as half divine, Stark naught, because corrupt in their design. Strange doctrine this! that without scruple tears The laurel, that the very lightning spares; Brings down the warrior's trophy to the dust, And eats into his bloody sword like rust.

B. I grant that, men continuing what they are, Fierce, avaricious, proud, there must be war. And never meant the rule should be applied To him, that fights with justice on his side.

Let laurels, drench'd in pure Parnassian dews, Reward his mem'ry, dear to ev'ry muse, Who, with a courage of unshaken root, In honour's field advancing his firm fout,

Plants it upon the line that Justice draws,
And will prevail or perish in her cause.

Tis to the virtues of such men, man owes
His portion in the good, that Heav'n bestows.
And when recording History displays
Feats of renown, though wrought in ancient days,
Tells of a few stout hearts, that fought and died,
Where duty placed them, at their country's side;
The man, that is not mov'd with what he reads,
That takes not fire at their heroic deeds,
Unworthy of the blessings of the brave,
Is base in kind, and born to be a slave.

But let eternal infamy pursue The wretch to nought but his ambition true, Who, for the sake of filling with one blast The post-horns of all Europe, lays her waste. Think yourself station’d on a tow'ring rock, To see a people scatter'd like a flock, Some royal mastiff panting at their heels, With all the savage thirst a tiger feels; Then view him self-proclaim'd in a gazette Chief monster that has plagu'd the nations yet. The globe and sceptre in such hands misplac'd, Those ensigns of dominion, how disgrac'd ! The glass, that bids man mark the fleeting hour, And Death's own sithe would better speak his poxi'r; Then grace the bony phantom in their stead With the king's shoulderknot and gay cockade;

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