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Happy, thrice happy he! whose conscious heart Enquires his purpose, and discerns his part; Who runs with heed th' involuntary race, Nor lets his hours reproach him as they pass; Weighs how they steal away, how fure, how fast, And, as he weighs them, apprehends the last : Or vacant, or engag'd, our minutes Aly; We may be negligent, but we must die.
LL you who leap religion's facred fence,
And hunt th' ignoble chace of lust and sense; Whose impious breasts some hellish fiend inspires ! And tongues, and eyes, confess adult'rous fires; Who drown your wretched fouls in floods of wine, And to the beast the nobler man resign; Who with loud oaths and curses rend the sky, And dare th' Almighty's dread authority : With earnest speed your darling vice forego, Which else will prove your certain overthrow. For since heaven's awful king is just and pure, You must the lashes of his wrath endure; Must ere 'tis long, to your confusion find, That God, tho' injured, is not deaf nor blind.
A CONTEMPLATION ON NIGHT.
BY MR. GAY.
HETHER amid the gloom of night I stray,
Or my glad eyes enjoy revolving day, Still nature's various face informs my sense, Of an all-wise, all-powerful providence.
When the gay sun first breaks the shades of night, And strikes the distant eastern hills with light, Colour returns, the plains their livery wear, And a bright verdure clothes the smiling year; The blooming flow’rs with op’ning beauties glow, And grazing flocks their milky fleeces show; The barren cliffs with chalky fronts arise, And a pure azure arches o'er the skies. But when the gloomy reign of night returns, Stript of her fading pride all nature mourns : The trees no more their wonted verdure boaft, But weep in dewy tears their beauty loft: No diftant landscapes draw our curious eyes, Wrapt in night's robe the whole creation lies. Yet still, ev'n now, while darkness clothes the land, We view the traces of th' Almighty hand; Millions of stars in heaven's wide vault appear, And with new glories hang the boundless sphere : The silver moon her western couch forsakes, And o’er the skies her nightly circle makes; Her solid globe beats back the sunny rays, And to the world her borrow'd light repays.
Whether those stars that twinkling lustre send,
When to the western main the sun descends,
When the pure soul is from the body flown,
A THOUGHT ON ETERNITY.
BY THE SAME.
RE the foundations of the world were laid,
Ere kindling light th' almighty word obey'd,
Ah! what is life? with ills encompass'd round,
Who then would wish to stretch this narrow span, To suffer life beyond the date of man?
The virtuous soul pursues a nobler aim, And life regards but as a fleeting dream : She longs to wake, and wishes to get free, To launch from earth into eternity. For while the boundless theme extends our thought, Ten thousand thousand rolling years are nought.
A REASONABLE QUESTION.
FROM PRIOR'S SOLOMON.
Should at a word pronounc'd revive and bud :