tions I take in giving this volume to the world, that I expect to be for ever free from the temptations of making or mending poems again.* So that my friends may be perfectly secure against this impression growing waste upon their hands, and useless, as the former has done. Let minds that are better furnished for such performances pursue these studies, if they are convinced that poesy can be made serviceable to religion and virtue. As for myself, I almost blush to think that I have read so little, and written so much. The following years of my life shall be more entirely devoted to the immediate and direct labours of my station, excepting those hours that may be employed in finishing the Psalms of David, in Christian language, which I have now promised the world.†

I cannot court the world to purchase this book for their pleasure or entertainment, by telling them that any one copy pleases me. The best of

them sinks below the idea which I form of a divine or a moral ode. He that deals in the mysteries of heaven, or of the muses, should be a genius of no vulgar mould: And as the name

*Naturam expellas furca licet, usque recurrel. Hor. Will this short note of Horace, excuse a man who has resisted nature many years, but has been sometimes overcome?

† In the year 1719 these were finished and printed.

Vates belong to both, so the furniture of both is comprised in that line of Horace,

Cui mens divinior, atque os

Magna sonaturum

But what Juvenal spake in his age, abides true in ours: A complete poet or prophet is such a

one:

Qualem nequeo monstrare, et sentio tantum.

Perhaps neither of these characters in perfection shall ever be seen on earth, till the seventh angel has sounded his awful trumpet; till the victory be complete over the beast and his image, when the natives of heaven shall join in concert with prophets and saints, and sing to their golden harps, Salvation, honour, and glory, to Him that sits upon the throne, and to the Lamb, for ever.' May 14, 1709.

HORE LYRICE.

HORE LYRICÆ.

BOOK I.

SACRED TO DEVOTION AND PIETY.

WORSHIPPING WITH FEAR.

WHO dares attempt the eternal name, With notes of mortal sound? Dangers and glories guard the theme, And spread despair around.

Destruction waits to obey his frown,
And Heaven attends his smile:
A wreath of lightning arms his crown,
But love adorns it still.

Celestial King! our spirits lie,

Trembling, beneath thy feet,

And wish, and cast a longing eye,
To reach thy lofty seat.