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s And when the air with heat meridian glows,

And nature droops beneath the conqu'ring gloam,
Let us, slow wand'ring where the current flows,

Save sinking flies that float along the stream
o Or turn to nobler, greater tasks thy care,

To me thy sympathetic gifts impart:
Teach me in friendship's griefs to bear a share,

And justly boast the gen'rous feeling heart."
q Teach me to sooth the helpless orphan's grief;

With timely aid, the widow's woes assuage;
To mis'ry's moving cries to yield relief :

And be the sure resource of drooping age.
& So when the genial spring of life shall fade,

And sinking nature own the dread decay,
Some soul congenial then may lend its aid
And gild the close of life's eventful day.

Verses supposed to be written by Alexander Selkirk, during his

solitary abode in the Island of Juna Fernandez.
TAM monarch of all I survey.

My right there is none to dispute ;
From the centre all round to the sea,

I am lord of the fowl and the brute.
Oh solitude! where are the charms,

That sages have seen in thy face?
Better dwell in the midst of alarmy,

Than reign in this horrible place.
I am out of humanity's reach ;

I must finish my journey alone;
Never hear the sweet music of speech;

I start at the sound of my own.
The beasts that roam over the plain,

My form with indifference see:
They are so unacquainted with man,

Their tameness is shocking to me
Society, friendship, and love,

Divinely bestow'd upon man .
Oh had I the wings of a dove,

How soon would I taste you again!
My sorrows I then might assuage

In the ways of religion and truth;
Might learn from the wisdom of age,

Lad be eboer'd by the sallies of youth

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4 Religion ! what treasure untold,

Resides in that heavenly word!
More precious than silver or gold,

Or all that this earth can afford.
But the sound of the church-going bell,

Thése vallies and rocks never heard ;
Neler sigh'd at the sound of a knell,

Or smild when a sabbath appear'd. 5 Ye winds that have made me your sport,

Convey to this desolate shore,
Some cordial endearing report

Of a land I shall visit no more.
My friends, do they now and then send

A wish or a thought after me ?
O tell me I yet have a friend,

Though a friend I am never to see. 6 How fleet is a glance of the mind!

Compar'd with the speed of its flight,
The tempest itself lags behind,

And the swift-winged arrows of light.
When I think of my own native land,

In a moment I seem to be there ; But, alas! recollection at hand,

Soon hurries me back to despair. 7 But the sea-fowl is gone to her nest,

The beast is laid down in his lair;
Even here is a season of rest,

And I to my cabin repair.
There's mercy in every place;

And mercy-encouraging thought!
Gives even affliction a grace,
And reconciles man to his lot.-COWPER.


W HEN all thy mercies, O my God!

W My rising soul surveys, ,
Transported with the view, I'm lost

In wonder, love, and praise. 2 O how shall words, with equal warmth,

The gratitude declare,
That glows within my ravish'd heart ?

But thou canst read it there.
3 Thy providence my life sustain'd,
And all my wants redrest,

..? (348)

When in the scient womb I lay,

And hung upon the breart.
4 To all my weak complaints and cries,

Thy mercy lent an ear,
Ere yet my feeble thoughts had learn'd,

To form themselves in pray’r.
5 Unnumber'd comforts to my soul,

Thy tender care bestow'd,
Before my infant heart conceiv'd

From whom those comforts flow'd.
6 When, in the slipp’ry paths of youth,

With heedless steps, I ran,
Thine arm, unseen, convey'd m? safe,

And led me up to man.
7 Through hidden dangers, toils, and deaths,

It gently clear'd my way;
And through the pleasing snares of vice,

More to be fear'd than they.
8 When worn with sickness, oft hast thou,

With health renew'd my face;
And, when in sins and sorrows sunk,

Reviv'd my soul with grace.
9 Thy bounteous hand, with worldly bliss,

Has made my cup run o'er ;
And, in a kind and faithful friend,

Has doubled all my store.
10 Ten thousand, thousand precious gifts,

My daily thanks employ;
Nor is the least a cheerful heart,

That tastes those gifts with joy. 11 Through ev'ry period of my life,

Thy goodness I'll pursue;
And, after death, in distant worlds,

The glorious theme renew.
- 12 When nature fails, and day and night,

Divide thy works no more,
My ever-grateful heart, O Lord !

Thy mercy shall adore. 13 Through all eternity, to thee,

A joyful song I'M raise ;
For O! eternity's too short
To utter all thy praibe.--ADDISON. "

· (30)

SECTION VIL A man perishing in the snoro ;. from whence reflections on

raised on the miseries of life.
A S thus the snows arise; and foul and fierce,
A All winter drives along the darken'd air ;
In his own loose-revolving field, the swain
Disaster'd stands ; sees other hills ascend,
Of unknown joyless brow; and other scenes,
Of horrid prospect, shag the trackless plain ;
Nor inds the river, nor the forest, hid
Beneath the formless wild ; but wanders on,
From hill to dale, still more and more astray;
Impatient flouncing through the drifted heaps.
Sting with the thoughts of home; the thoughts of bome
Rush on his nerves, and call their vigour forth
In many a vain attempt

How sinks his soul !
What black despair, what horror fills his heart!
When, for the dusky spot, which fancy feign'd
His tufted cottage rising through the snow,
He meets the roughness of the middle waste,
Far from the track, and blest abode of man;
While round him night resistless closes fast,
And ev'ry tempest howling o'er his head,

Renders the savage wilderness more wild.
3 Then throng the busy shapes into his mind,

Of cover'd pits, unfathomably deep,
A dire descent, beyond the pow'r of frost!
Of faithless bogs; of precipices huge,
Smooth'd up with snow; and what is land, unknown
What water, of the still unfrozen spring,
In the loose marsh or solitary lake,
Where the fresh fountain from the dottom boil..
These check his fearful steps; and down he sinks
Beneath the shelter of the shapeless drift,
Thinking o'er all the bitterness of death,
Mix'd with the tender anguish nature shoots
Through the wrung boson of the dying man,

His wife, his children, and his friends unsere • lo vain for him th'officious wife prepares .

The fire fair-blazing, and the vestment warm ;
Io vain his little children, peeping out
Into the mingled storm, demand their şire,
With tears of artheas innocenco. Alas!
Mor wito nor children, more shall be bebold;


Nor friends, nor sacred home. On every nerve
The deadly winter seizes; shuts up senso;
And, o'er his inmost vitals creeping cold,
Lays him wong the snows a stiffen'd corse,

Stretch'd out, and bleaching in the northern blast. 6 Ah, little think the gay licentious proud,

Whom pleasures, pow'r, and affluence surround;
They who their thoughtless hours in giddy mirth,
And wanton, often cruel riot, waste;
Ah little think they, while they dance along,
How many feel, this very moment, death,
And all the sad variety of pain !
How many sink in the devouring flood,
Or more devouring flame! How many bleed,

By shameful variance betwixt man and man!
7 How many pine in want, and dungeon glooms,

Shut from the common air, and common use
Of their own limbs! How many drink the cup
Of baleful grief, or eat the bitter bread
Of misery! Sore pierc'd by wintry winds,
How many shrink into the sordid hut
Of cheerless poverty! How many shake
With all the fiercer tortures of the mind,

Unbounded passion, madness, guilt, remorse!
8 How many, rack'd with honest passions, droop

In deep retir'd distress How many stand
Around the death-bed »f their dearest friends,
And point the parting nguish! Thought, fond man,
Of these, and all the thu usand nameless ills,

That one incessant strug le render life,
One scene of toil, of suffering, and of fate,
Vice in his bigh career would stand appall’d.
And heedless rambling impulse learn to think ;
The conscious heart of charity would warm,
And her wide wish benevolence dilate;
The social tear would rise, the social sigh;
And into clear perfection, gradual bliss,
Befining still, the social passions work.-THOMSON.


A morning hymn. TITHESE are thy glorious works, parent of good,

1 Almighty, thine this universal frame, Thus wondrous fair; thyself how wond'rous then! Unspeakable, who sitt'st above these heavens, two To us invisible, or dimly seen o s ila


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