Its sacred majesty thro' all depends
On using second means to work His ends:
'Tis thus, withdrawn in state from human eye,
The pow'r exerts His attributes on high,
Your action uses, nor controls your will,
And bids the doubting sons of men be still.
"What strange events can strike with more surprise,
Than those which lately struck thy wond'ring eyes?
Yet, taught by these, confess the Almighty just,
And where you can't unriddle, learn to trust.
"The great vain man, who far'd on costly food,
Whose life was too luxurious to be good;
Who made his ivory stands with goblets shine,
And forc'd his guests to morning draughts of wine;
Has, with the cup, the graceless custom lost,
And still he welcomes, but with less of cost.
The mean suspicious wretch, whose bolted door
Ne'er moved in pity to the wand'ring poor;
With him I left the cup, to teach his mind
That Heav'n can bless, if mortals will be kind.
Conscious of wanting worth, he views the bowl,
And feels compassion touch his grateful soul.
Thus artists melt the sullen ore of lead,
With heaping coals of fire upon its head;
In the kind warmth the metal learns to glow,
And, loose from dross, the silver runs below.
Long had our pious friend in virtue trod, But now the child half-wean'd his heart from God; (Child of his age), for him he liv'd in pain, And measur'd back his steps to earth again. To what excesses had his dotage run! But God, to save the father, took the son.
To all but thee, in fits he seem'd to go,
And 'twas my ministry to deal the blow.
The poor fond parent, humbled in the dust,
Now owns in tears the punishment was just.
“ But how had all his fortunes felt a wrack,
Had that false servant sped in safety back?
This night his treasur'd heaps he meant to steal,
And what a fund of charity would fail!
“Thus Heav'n instructs thy mind: this trial o'er, Depart in peace, resign, and sin no more."
On sounding pinions here the youth withdrew,
The sage stood wond'ring as the seraph flew.
Thus look'd Elisha, when, to mount on high,
His master took the chariot of the sky;
The fiery pomp ascending left the view;
The prophet gazed, and wished to follow too.
The bending Hermit here a pray'r begun,
"Lord, as in heav'n, on earth thy will be done."
Then, gladly turning, sought his ancient place,
And pass'd a life of piety and
HYMN TO CONTENTMENT.
BY PARNELL.
LOVELY, lasting peace of mind!
Sweet delight of human kind!
Heavenly born, and bred on high,
To crown the fav'rites of the sky,
With more of happiness below,
Than victors in a triumph know!
Whither, oh whither art thou fled,
To lay thy meek contented head?
What happy region does thee please
To make the seat of calm and ease?
Ambition searches all its sphere
Of pomp and state to meet thee there:
Increasing avarice would find
Thy presence in its gold enshrined:
The bold advent'rer ploughs his way
Through rocks amid the foaming sea,
To gain thy love, and then perceives
Thou wert not in the rocks and waves.
The silent heart which grief assails,
Treads soft and lonesome o'er the vales;
Sees daisies open, rivers run,
And seeks, as I have vainly done,
Amusing thought; but learns to know
That solitude's the nurse of woe.
No real happiness is found
In trailing purple o'er the ground;
Or in a soul exalted high,
To range the circuit of the sky,
Converse with stars above, and know
All Nature in its forms below:
The rest it seeks, in seeking dies;
And doubts at last for knowledge rise.
Lovely, lasting peace, appear;
This world itself, if thou art here,
Is once again with Eden blest,
And man contains it in his breast.
'Twas thus, as under shade I stood,
I sung my wishes to the wood;
And, lost in thought no more perceiv'd
The branches whisper as they wav'd;
It seemed as all the quiet place
Confessed the presence of his
When thus she spoke-"Go, rule thy will, "Bid thy wild passions all be still;
"Know God and bring thy heart to know
The joys which from religion flow;
When ev'ry grace shall prove its guest,
And I'll be there to crown the rest."
Oh! by yonder mossy seat,
In my hours of sweet retreat,
Might I thus my soul employ,
With sense of gratitude and joy,
Rais'd as ancient prophets were,
In heavenly wisdom; praise, and pray'r;
Pleasing all men, hurting none,
Pleas'd and blest with God alone;
Then while the gardens take my sight,
With all the colours of delight;
While silver waters glide along,
To please my ear, and court my song;
I'll lift my voice, and tune my string,
And thee, great source of Nature, sing.
The sun that walks his airy way,
To light the world, and give the day;
The moon that shines with borrowed light;
The stars that gild the gloomy night;
The seas that roll unnumbered waves;
The wood that spreads its shady leaves;
The field whose ears conceal the grain,
The yellow treasure of the plain :
All of these, and all I see,
Should be sung, and sung by me:
They speak their Maker as they can,
But want and ask the tongue of man.
Go, search among your idle dreams,
Your busy or your vain extremes;
And find a life of equal bliss,
Or own the next begun in this.
YOUNG.*-BORN 1681; DIED 1765.
EXTRACTS FROM NIGHT THOUGHTS.
THE WONDROUS NATURE OF MAN.
THE bell strikes one. We take no note of time
To give it then a tongue
As if an angel spoke
I feel the solemn sound. If heard aright
It is the knell of my departed hours:
Where are they? With the years beyond the flood.
It is the signal that demands dispatch;
How much is to be done? My hopes and fears
Start up alarm'd, and o'er life's narrow verge
Look down-on what? a fathomless abyss;
A dread Eternity! how surely mine!
And can Eternity belong to me,
Poor pensioner on the bounties of an hour?
How poor, how rich, how abject, how august,
How complicate, how wonderful, is man!
How passing wonder He who made him such!
Who centred in our make such strange extremes !
From diff'rent natures marvellously mix'd,
Connexion exquisite of distant worlds!
Distinguish'd link in Being's endless chain!
Midway from nothing to the Deity!
A beam ethereal, sully'd and absorpt!
Tho' sully'd and dishonour'd, still divine!
Dim miniature of greatness absolute!
An heir of glory! A frail child of dust!
*"Young (he said) was not a poet to be read through at once. "His love of point and wit had often put an end to his pathos "and sublimity; but there were parts in him which must be "immortal: He (Coleridge) loved to read a page of Young and "walk out to think of him."-Mr. Justice Coleridge, of his Uncle, S. T. Coleridge.
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