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On the tree of life eternal,

Man, let all thy hopes be staid; Which alone, for ever vernal,

Bears a leaf that shall not fade."

DR. HORNE.

SECTION XIII.

THE CHRISTIAN RACE

AWAKE my soul, stretch ev'ry nerve,
And press with vigour on:
A heav'nly race demands thy zeal,
And an immortal crown.

A cloud of witnesses around,
Hold thee in full survey:
Forget the steps already trod,
And onward urge the way.

"Tis God's all animating voice,

That calls thee from on high :

"Tis his own hand presents the prize

To thine aspiring eye:

That prize with peerless glories bright

Which shall new lustre boast,
When victors' wreaths, and monarchs' gems,

Shall blend in common dust.

My soul with sacred ardour fir'd,
The glorious prize pursue;

And meet with joy the high command,

To bid this earth adieu.

DODDRIDGE.

SECTION XIV.

THE DIVINE BEING KNOWS AND SEES EVERY THING.

LORD thou hast search'd and seen me thro':
Thine eye beholds, with piercing view,
My rising and my resting hours,

My heart and flesh, with all their pow'rs.

My thoughts, before they are my own,
Are to my God distinctly known;
He knows the words I mean to speak,
Ere from my op'ning lips they break.

Within thy circling pow'r I stand;
On ev'ry side I find thy hand :
Awake, asleep, at home, abroad,
I am surrounded still with God.

Amazing knowledge, vast and great!
What large extent! what lofty height!
My soul, with all the pow'rs I boast,
Is in the boundless prospect lost.

0

O may these thoughts possess my breast,
Where'er I rove, where'er I rest!

Nor let my weaker passions dare
Consent to sin, for God is there.

Could I so false, so faithless prove,
To quit thy service and thy love,
Where, Lord, could I thy presence shun,
Or from thy dreadful glory run?

If up to heav'n I take my flight,

'Tis there thou dwell'st inthron'd in light;
Or dive to hell, there vengeance reigns,
And Satan groans beneath thy chains.

If mounted on a morning ray,
I fly beyond the western sea;
Thy swifter hand would first arrive,
And there arrest thy fugitive.

Or should I try to shun thy sight
Beneath the spreading veil of night;
One glance of thine, one piercing ray,
Would kindle darkness into day.

Oh! may these thoughts possess my breast,
Where'er I rove, where'er I rest ;

Nor let my weaker passions dare
Consent to sin, for God is there.

WATTS.

SECTION XV.

THE HAPPY END.

WHEN life's tempestuous storms are o'er,
How calm he meets the friendly shore,
Who liv'd averse to sin!

Such peace on virtue's path attends,
That, where the sinner's pleasure ends,
The good man's joys begin.

See smiling patience smooth his brow
See the kind angels waiting now,
To lift his soul on high!

While eager for the blest abode,

He joins with them to praise the God,
Who taught him how to die.

The horrors of the grave and hell,
Those sorrows which the wicked feel,
In vain their gloom display;

For he who bids yon comet burn,
Or makes the night descend, can turn
Their darkness into day.

No sorrow drowns his lifted eyes;
No horror wrests the struggling sighs,
As from the sinner's breast;
His God, the God of peace and love,
Pours sweetest comforts from above,
And soothes his heart to rest!

SECTION XVI.

THE DANGERS AND SNARES OF LIFE.

AWAKE my soul! lift up thine eyes;
See where thy foes against thee rise,
In long array, a num'rous host!
Awake, my soul, or thou art lost.

Here giant danger threatning stands
Must'ring his pale terrific bands;
There pleasure's silken banners spread,
And willing souls are captive led.

S

See where rebellious passions rage,
And fierce desires and lusts engage;
The meanest foe of all the train-

Has thousands and ten thousands slain.

Thou tread'st upon enchanted ground;
Perils and snares beset thee round:
Beware of all, guard ev'ry part,
But most, the traitor in thy heart.

Come then, my soul, now learn to wield
The weight of thine immortal shield:
Put on the armour from above

Of heav'nly truth and heav'nly love.

The terror and the charm repel,
And pow'rs of earth, and pow'rs of hell:
The Man of Calvary triumph'd here;
Why should his faithful followers fear?

BARBAULD.

SECTION XVII.

EPITAPH ON A POOR AND VIRTUOUS MAN.

STOP reader, here, and deign to look

On one without a name;

Ne'er enter'd in the ample book

Of fortune, or of fame.

Studious of peace, he hated strife;

Meek virtues fill'd his breast: His coat of arms, a spotless life;" "An honest heart," his crest.

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