ON A SIMILAR OCCASION, FOR THE YEAR 1792. Felix, qui potuit rerum cognoscere causas, Happy the mortal, who has traced effects THANKLESS for favours from on high, But he, not wise enough to scan To ages in a world of pain, To ages, where he goes Galled by affliction's heavy chain, And hopeless of repose. Strange fondness of the human heart, Strange world, that costs it so much smart, Whence has the world her magic power? Why deem we death a foe? Recoil from weary life's best hour, And covet longer woe? The cause is Conscience-Conscience oft Her tale of guilt renews: Then anxions to be longer spared Man mourns his fleeting breath: 'Tis judgment shakes him; there's the fear, Pay!-follow Christ, and all is paid; ON A SIMILAR OCCASION, FOR THE YEAR 1793. De sacris autem hæc sit una sententia, ut conserventur. Cic. de Leg. But let us all concur in this one sentiment, that things sacred be inviolate. He lives who lives to God alone, For other source than God is none To live to God is to requite His love as best we may : To make his precepts our delight, But life, within a narrow ring Is falsely named, and no such thing, Can life in them deserve the name, For what poor toys they can disclaim Who, much diseased, yet nothing feel; Who deem his house an useless place, Faith, want of common sense; Who trample order; and the day, If scorn of God's commands, impressed With life that cannot die; Such want it, and that want uncured Till man resigns his breath, Speaks him a criminal, assured Sad period to a pleasant course! Yet so will God repay INSCRIPTION FOR THE TOMB OF MR. HAMILTON. PAUSE here, and think: a monitory rhyme Consult life's silent clock, thy bounding vein; And many a tomb, like HAMILTON's, aloud EPITAPH ON A HARE. HERE lies, whom hound did ne'er pursue, Old Tiney, surliest of his kind, Though duly from my hand he took And when he could, would bite. His diet was of wheaten bread, With sand to scour his maw. On twigs of hawthorn he regaled, A Turkey carpet was his lawn, His frisking was at evening hours, But most before approaching showers, Eight years and five round-rolling moons Dozing out all his idle noons, And every night at play. I kept him for his humour's sake, For he would oft beguile My heart of thoughts that made it ache ; And force me to smile. But now beneath his walnut shade He finds his long last home, |