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The Vanity of Wealth.

AN ODE.

NWith Avarice painful vigils keep;

O more thus brooding o'er yon heap,

Still unenjoy'd the prefent store,
Still endless fighs are breath'd for more.
O! quit the fhadow, catch the prize,
Which not all India's treafure buys!
To purchase heaven-has gold the power?
Can gold remove the mortal hour?
In life can love be bought with gold?
Are friendship's pleasures to be fold?
No-all that's worth a wifh-a thought,
Fair Virtue gives unbrib'd, unbought.
Ceafe, then, on trafh thy hopes to bind,
Let nobler views engage thy mind.

With fcience tread the wond'rous way,
Or learn the Mufes moral lay;
In focial hours indulge thy foul,

Where mirth and temp'rance mix the bowl:
To virtuous love refign thy breaft,

And be by bleffing beauty-bleft.

Thus taste the feast by nature spread,
Ere youth and all its joys are fled;
Come taste with me the balm of life,
Secure from pomp, and wealth, and strife,
I boast whate'er for man was meant,
In health, and Stella, and content;
And fcorn! Oh! let that fcorn be thine!
Mere things of clay, that dig the mine.

DR. JOHNSON.

G

An Address to the Deity.

OD of my life! and author of my days! Permit my feeble voice to lifp thy praise; And trembling, take upon a mortal tongue That hallow'd name to harps of Seraphs fung. Yet here the brightest Seraphs could no more Than veil their faces, tremble, and adore. Worms, angels, men, in every different sphere Are equal all, for all are nothing here.

All nature faints beneath the mighty name,
Which nature's works thro' all her parts proclaim.
I feel that name my inmost thoughts control,
And breathe an awful stillness thro' my foul;
As by a charm the waves of grief fubfide,
Impetuous paffion ftops her headlong tide :
At thy felt prefence all emotions cease,
And my hufh'd fpirit finds a fudden peace,
'Till every worldly thought within me dies,
And earth's gay pageants vanifh from my eyes;
Till all my fenfe is loft in infinite,

And one vast object fills my aching fight.

But foon, alas! this holy calm is broke;
My foul fubmits to wear her wonted yoke;
With fhackled pinions ftrives to foar in vain,
And mingles with the drofs of earth again.
But he, our gracious Master, kind as just,
Knowing our frame, remembers man is duft.
His fpirit, ever brooding o'er our mind,
Sees the first wish to better hopes inclin'd;
Marks the young dawn of every virtuous aim,
And fans the fmoaking flax into a flame.
His ears are open to the softest

cry,

His grace defcends to meet the lifted eye;
He reads the language of a filent tear,
And fighs are incenfe from a heart fincere.
E e

Such are the vows, the facrifice I give;
Accept the vow, and bid the fuppliant live :
From each terreftrial bondage fet me free;
Still every with that centers not in thee;
Bid my fond hopes, my vain disquiets, cease,
And point my path to everlasting peace.

If the foft hand of winning pleasure leads
By living waters, and thro' flow'ry meads,
When all is smiling, tranquil, and ferene,
And vernal beauty paints the flattering scene,
Oh! teach me to elude each latent fnare,
And whisper to my fliding heart-beware!
With caution let me hear the Syren's voice,
And doubtful, with a trembling heart, rejoice.

If friendless, in a vale of tears I ftray, Where briars wound, and thorns perplex my way, Still let my steady foul thy goodness see, And with ftrong confidence lay hold on thee; With equal eye my various lot receive, Refign'd to die, or refolute to live; Prepar'd to kifs the fceptre or the rod, While GOD is feen in all, and all in GOD.

I read his awful name, emblazon'd high With golden letters on the illumin'd sky ; Nor less the mystic characters I fee

Wrought in each flower, infcrib'd in every tree; leaf that trembles to the breeze

In every

I hear the voice of GoD among the trees;
With thee in fhady folitudes I walk,
With thee in bufy crowded cities talk,
In every creature own thy forming power,
In each event thy providence adore.
Thy hopes fhall animate my drooping foul,
Thy precepts guide me, and thy fears controul:
Thus fhall I reft, unmov'd by all alarms,
Secure within the temple of thine arms;

From anxious cares, from gloomy terrors free,
And feel myself omnipotent in thee.

Then when the last, the clofing hour draws nigh,
And earth recedes before my fwimming eye;
When trembling on the doubtful edge of fate
I ftand, and stretch my view to either state;
Teach me to quit this tranfitory scene
With decent triumph and a look ferene;
Teach me to fix my ardent hopes on high,
And having liv'd to thee, in thee to die.

BARBAULD.

To the Memory of Major Alderton, who was twice run thro' the body, and once shot: who, for bravery, charity, and generosity, few equall'd, and none excell’d.

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Hodge and the Razor-seller.

A TALE.

Fellow in a market town,

Moft mufical, cry'd razors up and down, And offer'd twelve for eighteen-pence; Which certainly feem'd wond'rous cheap,. And for the money, quite a heap,

As ev'ry man would buy, with cash and sense.

A country bumpkin the great offer heard:
Poor Hodge, who fuffer'd by a broad black beard,
That feem'd a fhoe-brush stuck beneath his nose:
With cheerfulness the eighteen-pence he paid,
And proudly to himself, in whispers, faid,
"This rafcal ftole the razors, I fuppose.

"No matter if the fellow be a knave, "Provided that the razors have;

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"It certainly will be a monftrous prize." So home the clown, with his good fortune went, Smiling in heart and foul content,

And quickly foap'd himself to ears and eyes.

Being well lather'd from a dish or tub,
Hodge now began with grinning pain to grub,
Just like a hedger cutting furze :

'Twas a vile razor!-then the rest he try'd-
All were impoftors-" Ah," Hodge figh❜d!

"I wish my eighteen-pence within my purse."

In vain to chase his beard, and bring the graces, He cut, and dug, and winc'd, and stamp'd, and swore; *Brought blood, and danc'd, blasphem'd, and made wry faces,

And curs'd each razor's body o'er and o'er.

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