He mark'd the bitter tear, the broken heart, See, from thy plains what mingled horrors rise! How shall we stand acquitted? Bow thy knee, Imperial Britain, bow, and urge thy plea Plead for thy favor'd Isle; where full-blown pride Thrusts unpretending honesty aside; Where venal poets prostitute the muse, And slumb'ring prelates preach to empty pews; Make that blest name which dying martyrs sung, Is there a villain that pollutes thy shore, And turns a parson to blaspheme the more; In folly, guilt, and ignorance supine, Who boldly stands th' expositor of truth, What's Virtue ?-but a mask to cheat the blind! An empty name, a phantom of the mind, A tale the sophist tells, the fool believes, An artful plea that damns, while it deceivesBut faith, that precious opiate of the soul! Lulls all our fears to rest, and makes us whole, Gives colour to the vices of the times, Sets conscience free, and sanctifies our crimes! Blest argument that proves, Avarò cries, I, who have set my heart against despair, Who ne'er till earth shall take these old remains, Will give the world one farthing of my gains; Kneel at God's sacred altar, with my crone; Strange doctrine! let the promis'd bliss be thineMay virtue's hopes, and virtue's fate be mine! When the last day exulting seraphs hail, And Heav'n's bright throne appears without a veil, Then shall our sev'ral claims be justly try'd By Him, who, to confirm them, groan'd, and died. For virtue who shall plead? What Heav'n holds dear, Names of high worth, tho' little valued here. Nor least, the widow's and the orphan's pray'r, These are thy bright rewards, O truth divine! These shall, ere long, O Wilberforce, be thine ! Such bliss awaits the man who pitying gave Light to the blind, and freedom to the slave! Afric, rejoice! from Britain's distant shore, To rob you of the gem she holds so dear, And plant in desarts wild, sweet Sharon's rose; Is there a deed that Heav'n itself approves, That god-like virtue prompts, compassion moves, That gives the human soul new light to shine, And proves indeed its origin divine, 'Tis that, which sends to earth's remotest bound, Salvation's work, the Gospel's cheering sound! Go ye, who shall the proud distinction claim, And teach the nations your Redeemer's name! Go, plant his glorious cross in wilds unknown, And bring new subjects to Jehovah's throne ! Say, when astonish'd nature saw him die, Red light'ning flash'd, and thunder shook the sky, Here pause the sorrowing Muse with sacred dread, To pay her honours to th' illustrious dead, Recall those names Britannia's sons adore, And tell of worth and greatness now no more— How Pitt, and O! that name for ever dear, Lives in my heart, and vibrates in my ear,With gen'rous ardor rais'd his country's fame, And gave new lustre to the patriot's name! Who, when the civil storm began to low'r, And factious knaves call'd loud for place and pow'r, Stood forth fair Freedom's champion, nobly great, To save from tyrant hands a sinking state! Who died unpension'd, crown'd with just applause, A faithful servant in the public cause !Be envy silent o'er his hallow'd dust, And, if it dare not imitate, be just. |