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Whofe herds with milk, whofe fields with bread,
Whofe flocks fupply him with attire,
Whofe trees in fummer yield him shade,
In winter fire.

Bleft, who can unconcern'dly find

Hours, days, and years flide foft away, In health of body, peace of mind,

Quiet by day,

Sound fleep by night; ftudy and cafe,
Together mix'd; fweet recreation;
And innocence, which moft does please
With meditation.

Thus let me live, unfeen, unknown,
Thus unlamented let me die,

Steal from the world, and not a stone

Tell where I lie.

THE

DYING CHRISTIAN

то

HIS SOUL.

OD E.

1.

VITAL fpark of heavenly flame!

Quit, oh quit this mortal frame :
Trembling, hoping, lingering flying,
Oh the pain, the blifs of dying!
Ceafe, fond Nature, ceafe thy ftrife,
And let me languish into life.

II.

Hark! they whisper; angels fay,
Sifter fpirit, come away.
What is this abforbs me quite?
Steals my fenfes, fhuts my fight,
Drowns my fpirits, draws my breath?

Tell

me, my foul, can this be death?

III.

The world recedes; it difappears!

Heaven opens to my eyes! my ears

With founds feraphic ring:

Lend, lend your wings! I mount! I fly!
O Grave! where is thy victory?

O Death! where is thy fting?

ΑΝ

ESSAY

Ο Ν

CRITICISM.

Written in the year M.DCC.IX.

F 3

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