And in myself am loft! at Home a Stranger, Thought wanders up and down, furpriz'd, aghaft, And wondering at her own: How Reason reels! O what a Miracle to Man is Man, Triumphantly diftrefs'd! what Joy, what Dread! What can preserve my Life? or what destroy? A PRAYER. YOUNG. Thou great Arbiter of Life and Death! Nature's immortal, immaterial Sun ! Whose all prolific Beam late call'd me forth From Darkness, teeming Darkness, where I lay The Worm's inferior, and in Rank, beneath The Duft I tread on, high to bear my Brow; To drink the Spirit of the golden Day, And triumph in Existence; and could'st know No Motive but my Blifs; and hast ordain'd A Rife in Bleffing! with the Patriarch's Joy, Thy Call I follow to the Land unknown; I trust in thee, and know in whom I trust; Or Life, or Death, is equal; neither weighs, All Weight in this-O let me live to Thee ! The Darkness of Providence. TH ADDISON. HE Ways of Heaven are dark and intricate, Errors: Our Understanding traces them in vain, Loft and bewilder'd in the fruitless Search; Nor Nor fees with how much Art the Windings run, I' Cato's Soliloquy on the Immortality of the Soul. ADDISON. T must be fo-Plato, thou reason'st well! Elfe whence this pleafing Hope, this fond Defire, This Longing after Immortality? Or whence this fecret Dread, and inward Horror, 'Tis Heaven itself that points out an Hereafter, Eternity! thou pleafing, dreadful Thought! The SICK MAN and the ANGEL. S there no Hope? the fick Man faid, ' And took his Leave with Signs of Sorrow, GAY. When thus the Man, with gasping Breath, I feel the chilling Wound of Death, F 2 Since Since I muft bid this World adieu, My Will hath made the World Amends ; My Hope on Charity depends, When I am number'd with the Dead, And all my pious Gifts are read, By Heaven and Earth 'twill then be known, Ah Friend! he cry'd, An Angel came. But But why fuch Hafte, the fick Man whines, Who knows as yet what Heaven defigns?. Perhaps I may recover still: That Sum and more are in my Will. Fool, fays the Vifion, now 'tis plain, While there is Life, there's Hope, he cry'd: Then why fuch Hafte? fo groan'd and dy'd. F The HARE and many FRIENDS. GAY. RIENDSHIP, like Love, is but a Name, Unless to one you stint the Flame. The Child, whom many Fathers fhare, Hath feldom known a Father's Care; 'Tis thus in Friendships; who depend many, rarely find a Friend. On A Hare, who, in a civil Way, And ev'ry Creature was her Friend. As forth fhe went at early Dawn, To taste the dew-besprinkled Lawn, F 3 Behind Behind the hears the Hunter's Cries, What Transport in her Bofom grew, Let me, fays fhe, your Back afcend, The Horse reply'd, poor honeft Pufs, For all your Friends are in the Rear. She next the ftately Bull implor'd; The |