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OF

DIVINE LOVE.

A POEM IN SIX CANTOS.

Floriferis ut apes in saltibus omnia libant; Sic nos Scripturæ depascimur aurea dicta; Aurea! perpetuâ semper dignissima vitâ!. Nam Divinus Amor cùm cæpit vociferari, Diffugiunt animi terrores.......

Lucret. Lib. iii.

Exul eram,requiesque mihi,non fama, petita est, Mens intenta suis ne foret usque malis: Namque ubi mota calent sacrâ mea pectora Musâ, Altior humano spiritus ille malo est.

Ovid. de Trist. Lib. iv. El. 1.

THE ARGUMENTS.

Sad fate of unbelievers, and yet just,
Among themselves to find so little trust!
Were Scripture silent, Nature would proclaim,
Without a God, our falsehood and our shame.
To know our thoughts the object of his eyes,
Is the first step tow'rds being good or wise;
For though with judgment we on things reflect,
Our will determines, not our intellect:
Slaves to their passion, reason men employ
Only to compass what they would enjoy.
His fear, to guard us from ourselves, we need ;
And Sacred Writ our reason does exceed.
For though Heaven shows the glory of the Lord,
Yet something shines more glorious in his word:
His mercy this (which all his work excels!)
His tender kindness and compassion tells :
While we, inform'd by that celestial book,
Into the bowels of our maker look.

Love there reveal'd (which never shall have end,
Nor had beginning) shall our song commend;
Describe itself, and warm us with that flame,

I. Asserting the authority of the Scripture, in which Which first from Heaven, to make us happy, came.

this love is revealed.

II. The preference and love of God to man in the

creation.

III. The same love more amply declared in our redemption.

IV. How necessary this love is to reform mankind, and how excellent in itself.

V. Showing how happy the world would be, if this love were universally embraced.

VI. Of preserving this love in our memory; and how useful the contemplation thereof is.

CANTO I.

THE Grecian Muse has all their gods surviv'd,
Nor Jove at us, nor Phoebus, is arriv'd:
Frail deities! which first the poets made,
And then invok'd, to give their fancies aid.
Yet, if they still divert us with their rage,
What may be hop'd for in a better age,
When, not from Helicon's imagin'd spring,
But Sacred Writ, we borrow what we sing?
This with the fabric of the world begun,
Elder than light, and shall out-last the sun.
Before this oracle, like Dagon, all
The false pretenders, Delphos, Ammon, fall:
Long since despis'd and silent, they afford
Honour and triumph to th' Eternal Word.

As late philosophy our globe has grac'd,
And rolling Earth among the planets plac'd,
So has this book entitled us to Heaven,
And rules, to guide us to that mansion, given:
Tells the conditions how our peace was made,
And is our pledge for the great author's aid.
His power in Nature's ample book we find;
But the less volume does express his mind.

This light unknown, bold Epicurus taught, That his blest gods vouchsafe us not a thought, But unconcern'd let all below them slide, As fortune does, or human wisdom, guide. Religion thus remov'd, the sacred yoke, And band of all society, is broke. What use of oaths, of promise, or of test, Where men regard no god but interest? What endless war would jealous nations tear, If none above did witness what they swear!

CANTO II.

THE fear of Hell, or aiming to be blest,
Savours too much of private interest.
This mov'd not Moses, nor the zealous Paul,
Who for their friends abandon'd soul and all:
A greater yet from Heaven to Hell descends,
To save, and make his enemies his friends.
What line of praise can fathom such a love,
Which reach'd the lowest bottom from above?
The royal prophet', that extended grace
From Heaven to Earth, measur'd but half that space.
The Law was regnant, and confin'd his thought;
Hell was not conquer'd when that poet wrote:
Heaven was scarce heard of, until He came down
To make the region where love triumphs known.
That early love of creatures yet unmade,
To frame the world th' Almighty did persuade;
For love it was that first created light,
Mov'd on the waters, chas'd away the night
From the rude chaos, and bestow'd new grace
On things dispos'd of to their proper place;
Some to rest here, and some to shine above:
Earth, sea, and Heaven, were all th' effects of love.
And love would be return'd. But there was none
That to themselves or others yet were known:
The world a palace was, without a guest,
Till one appears, that must excel the rest :
One! like the author, whose capacious mind
Might, by the glorious work, the maker find;
Might measure Heaven, and give each star a name;
With art and courage the rough ocean tame;
Over the globe with swelling sails might go,
And that 'tis round by his experience know;
Make strongest beasts obedient to his will,
And serve his use the fertile earth to till.
When, by his word, God had accomplish'd all,
Man to create he did a council call:
Employ'd his hand, to give the dust he took
A graceful figure and majestic look:
With his own breath, convey'd into his breast
Life, and a soul fit to command the rest.
Worthy alone to celebrate his name

For such a gift, and tell from whence it came,
Birds sing his praises in a wilder note;
But not with lasting numbers, and with thought,

2 David.

Man's
's great prerogative! But above all
His grace abounds in his new fav'rite's fall.
If he create, it is a world he makes;
If he be angry, the creation shakes:
From his just wrath our guilty parents fled;

He curst the Earth, but bruis'd the serpent's head.
Amidst the storm, his bounty did exceed,
In the rich promise of the Virgin's seed:
Though justice death, as satisfaction, craves,
Love finds a way to pluck us from our graves.
CANTO III.

NOT willing terrour should his image move,
He gives a pattern of eternal love;

His Son descends, to treat a peace with those
Which were, and must have ever been, his foes.
Poor he became, and left his glorious seat,
To make us humble, and to make us great:
His business here was happiness to give
To those, whose malice could not let him live.
Legions of angels, which he might have used,
(For us resolv'd to perish) he refus'd:
While they stood ready to prevent his loss,
Love took him up, and nail'd him to the cross.
Immortal love! which in his bowels reign'd,
That we might be by such great love constrain'd
To make return of love: upon this pole
Our duty does, and our religion, roll.
To love is to believe, to hope, to know;
'Tis an essay, a taste of Heaven below!

He to proud potentates would not be known;
Of those that lov'd him, he was hid from none.
Till love appear, we live in anxious doubt;
But smoke will vanish when that flame breaks out;
This is the fire that would consume our dross,
Refine, and make us richer by the loss.

Could we forbear dispute, and practise love, We should agree, as angels do above. Where love presides, not vice alone does find No entrance there, but virtues stay behind: Both faith and hope, and all the meaner train Of moral virtues, at the door remain. Love only enters as a native there; For, born in Heaven, it does but sojourn here. He that alone would wise and mighty be, Commands that others love as well as he. Love as he lov'd!-How can we soar so high?He can add wings, when he commands to fly. Nor should we be with this command dismay'd; He that examples gives, will give his aid: For he took flesh, that, where his precepts fail, His practice, as a pattern, may prevail. His love at once, and dread instruct our thought; As man he suffer'd, and as God he taught. Will for the deed he takes: we may with ease Obedient be, for if we love, we please. Weak though we are, to love is no hard task, And love for love is all that Heaven does ask. Love! that would all men just and temp'rate make, Kind to themselves and others for his sake.

'Tis with our minds as with a fertile ground, Wanting this love, they must with weeds abound, (Unruly passions) whose effects are worse Than thorns and thistles, springing from the curse. CANTO IV.

To glory man, or misery, is born,
Of his proud foe the envy or the scorn:
Wretched he is, or happy, in extreme;
Base in himself, but great in Heaven's esteem:

With love, of all created things the best;
Without it, more pernicious than the rest.
For greedy wolves unguarded sheep devour
But while their hunger lasts, and then give o'er:
Man's boundless avarice his want exceeds,
And on his neighbours round about him feeds.
His pride and vain ambition are so vast,
That, deluge-like, they lay whole nations waste:
Debauches and excess (though with less noise)
As great a portion of mankind destroys.
The beasts and monsters Hercules opprest
Might, in that age, some provinces infest:
These more destructive monsters are the bane
Of ev'ry age, and in all nations reign,
But soon would vanish, if the world were bless'd
With sacred love, by which they are repress'd.

Impendent death, and guilt that threatens Hell,
Are dreadful guests, which here with mortals dwell;
And a vex'd conscience, mingling with their joy
Thoughts of despair, does their whole life annoy:
But, love appearing, all those terrours fly;
We live contented, and contented die.
They, in whose breast this sacred love has place,
Death, as a passage to their joy, embrace.
Clouds and thick vapours, which obscure the day,
The Sun's victorious beams may chase away;
Those which our life corrupt and darken, Love
(The nobler star!) must from the soul remove.
Spots are observ'd in that which bounds the year;
This brighter Sun moves in a boundless sphere:
Of Heaven the joy, the glory, and the light;
Shines among angels, and admits no night.

CANTO V.

THIS Iron Age (so fraudulent and bold!)
Touch'd with this love, would be an Age of Gold:
Not, as they feign'd, that oaks should honey drop,
Or land neglected bear an unsown crop :
Love would make all things easy, safe, and cheap;
None for himself would either sow or reap:
Our ready help and mutual love would yield
A nobler harvest than the richest field.
Famine and death, confin'd to certain parts,
Extended are by barrenness of hearts.
Some pine for want, where others surfeit now;
But then we should the use of plenty know.

Love would betwixt the rich and needy stand,
And spread Heaven's bounty with an equal hand;
At once the givers and receivers bless,
Increase their joy, and make their suff'ring less.
Who for himself no miracle would make,
Dispens'd with sev'ral for the people's sake:
He that, long-fasting, would no wonder show,
Made loaves and fishes, as they ate them, grow.
Of all his pow'r, which boundless was above,
Here he us'd none, but to express his love:
And such a love would make our joy exceed,
Not when our own, but other mouths, we feed.

Laws would be useless, which rude nature awe; Love, changing nature, would prevent the law: Tigers and lions into dens we thrust,

But milder creatures with their freedom trust.
Devils are chain'd and tremble; but the Spouse
No force but love, nor bond but bounty, knows.
Men (whom we now so fierce and dangerous see)
Would guardian-angels to each other be:
Such wonders can this mighty love perform,
Vultures to doves, wolves into lambs transform!
Love what Isaiah prophesy'd can do,
Exalt the vallies, lay the mountains low,

Humble the lofty, the rejected raise,

[ways. Smooth and make straight our rough and crooked Love, strong as death, and like it, levels all; With that possess'd, the great in title fall, Themselves esteem but equal to the least,

Notes, whose strong charms the dullest ear might

move,

And melt the hardest heart in flames of love;
Notes, whose seraphic raptures speak a mind
From human thoughts and earthly dross refin'd;

Whom Heaven with that high character has blest. So just their harmony, so high their flight,

This love, the centre of our union, can
Alone bestow complete repose on man,
Tame his wild appetite, make inward peace,
And foreign strife among the nations cease.
No martial trumpet should disturb our rest,
Nor princes arm, though to subdue the East,
Where for the tomb so many heroes (taught
By those that guided their devotion) fought.
Thrice happy we, could we like ardour have
To gain his love, as they to win his grave!
Love as he lov'd! A love so unconfin'd,
With arms extended, would embrace mankind.
Self-love would cease, or be dilated, when
We should behold as many selfs as men,
All of one family, in blood ally'd,

His precious blood, that for our ransom dy'd!

CANTO VI.

THOUGH the creation (so divinely taught!)
Prints such a lively image on our thought,
That the first spark of new-created light,
From chaos strook, affects our present sight,
Yet the first Christians did esteem more blest
The day of rising, than the day of rest,
That ev'ry week might new occasion give,
To make his triumph in their mem❜ry live.
Then let our Muse compose a sacred charm,
To keep his blood among us ever warm,
And singing, as the blessed do above,
With our last breath dilate this flame of love.
But, on so vast a subject, who can find
Words that may reach th' ideas of his mind?
Our language fails: or, if it could supply,
What mortal thought can raise itself so high?
Despairing here, we might abandon art,
And only hope to have it in our heart.
But though we find this sacred task too hard,
Yet the design, th' endeavour, brings reward:
The contemplation does suspend our woe,
And make a truce with all the ills we know.
As Saul's afflicted spirit, from the sound
Of David's harp, a present solace found:
So on this theme while we our Muse engage,
No wounds are felt, of fortune or of age.
On divine love to meditate is peace,
And makes all care of meaner things to cease.
Amaz'd at once, and comforted, to find
A boundless power so infinitely kind;
The soul contending to that light to fly
From her dark cell, we practise how to die:
Employing thus the poet's winged art,
To reach this love, and grave it in our heart.
Joy so complete, so solid, and severe,
Would leave no place for meaner pleasures there:
Pale they would look, as stars that must be gone,
When from the east the rising Sun comes on.

ELEGY BY MR. TALBOT, OCCASIONED BY READING AND TRANSCRIBING MR.WALLER'S

POEM OF DIVINE LOVE AFTER HIS DEATH.

SUCH were the last, the sweetest, notes that hung Upon our dying swan's melodious tongue;

With joy I read them, and with wonder write.

Sure, happy saint, this noble song was given To fit thee for th' approaching joys of Heaven: Love, wondrous love, whose conquest was thy theme, Has taught thy soul the airy way to climb: Love snatch'd thee, like Elijah, to the sky, In flames that not consume, but purify: There, with thy fellow-angels mix'd, and free From the dull load of dim mortality, Thou feel'st new joys, and feed'st thy ravish'd sight, With unexhausted beams of love and light: And sure, bless'd spirit, to complete thy bliss, In Heaven thou sing'st this song, or one like this.

of the fear of GOD.

IN TWO CANTOS.
CANTO I.

THE fear of God is freedom, joy, and peace,
And makes all ills that vex us here to cease:
Though the word fear some men may ill endure,
'Tis such a fear as only makes secure.
Ask of no angel to reveal thy fate;
Look in thy heart, the mirror of thy state.
He that invites will not th' invited mock,
Op'ning to all that do in earnest knock.
Our hopes are all well-grounded on this fear;
All our assurance rolls upon that sphere.
This fear, that drives all other fears away,
Shall be my song, the morning of our day!
Where that fear is, there's nothing to be fear'd;
It brings from Heaven an angel for a guard:
Tranquillity and peace this fear does give;
Hell gapes for those that do without it live.
It is a beam, which he on man lets fall,
Of light, by which he made and governs all.
'Tis God alone should not offended be;
But we please others, as more great than he.
For a good cause, the sufferings of man
May well be borne: 'tis more than angels can.
Man, since his fall, in no mean station rests,
Above the angels, or below the beasts.
He with true joy their hearts does only fill,
That thirst and hunger to perform his will.
Others, though rich, shall in this world be vext,
And sadly live, in terrour of the next. [sue,
The world's great conqu'ror would his point pur-
And wept because he could not find a new:
Which had he done, yet still he would have cry'd,
To make him work, until a third he spy'd.
Ambition, avarice, will nothing owe
To Heaven itself, unless it make them grow.
Though richly fed, man's care does still exceed:
Has but one mouth, yet would a thousand feed.
In wealth and honour, by such men possest,
If it increase not, there is found no rest.
All their delight is while their wish comes in;
Sad when it stops, as there had nothing been.
'Tis strange men should neglect their present store,
And take no joy, but in pursuing more;

Alexander.

OF THE FEAR OF GOD...OF DIVINE POESY.

No! though arriv'd at all the world can aim,
This is the mark and glory of our frame.
A soul, capacious of the Deity,
Nothing, but he that made, can satisfy.

A thousand worlds, if we with him compare,
Less than so many drops of water are.
Men take no pleasure but in new designs,
And what they hope for, what they have outshines.
Our sheep and oxen seem no more to crave,
With full content feeding on what they have
Vex not themselves for an increase of store,
But think tomorrow we shall give them more.
What we from day to day receive from Heaven,
They do from us expect it should be given.
We made them not, yet they on us rely,
More than vain men upon the Deity:
More beasts than they! that will not understand,
That we are fed from his immediate hand.
Man, that in him has being, moves and lives,
What can he have or use but what he gives?
So that no bread can nourishment afford,
Or useful be, without his sacred word.

CANTO II.

EARTH praises conquerors for shedding blood,
Heaven, those that love their foes, and do them
It is terrestrial honour to be crown'd [good.
For strowing men, like rushes, on the ground.
True glory 'tis to rise above them all,
Without th' advantage taken by their fall.
He, that in fight diminishes mankind,
Does no addition to his stature find :
But he, that does a noble nature show,
Obliging others, still does higher grow.
For virtue practis'd such an habit gives,
That among men he like an angel lives.
Humbly he doth, and without envy, dwell,
Lov'd and admir'd by those he does excel.
Fools anger show, which politicians hide:
Blest with this fear, men let it not abide.
The humble man, when he receives a wrong,
Refers revenge to whom it doth belong,
Nor sees he reason why he should engage,
Or vex his spirit, for another's rage.
Plac'd on a rock, vain men he pities, tost
On raging waves, and in the tempest lost.
The rolling planets and the glorious Sun
Still keep that order which they first begun:
They their first lesson constantly repeat,
Which their Creator, as a law, did set.
Above, below, exactly all obey:
But wretched men have found another way;
Knowledge of good and evil, as at first,
(That vain persuasion!) keeps them still accurst!
The sacred word refusing as a guide,
Slaves they become to luxury and pride.
As clocks, remaining in the skilful hand
Of some great master, at the figure stand,
But when abroad, neglected they do go,
At random strike, and the false hour do show:
So from our Maker wandering, we stray,
Like birds that know not to their nests the way.
In him we dwelt before our exile here,
And may, returning, find contentment there;
True joy may find, perfection of delight,
Behold his face, and shun eternal night.

Silence, my Muse! make not these jewels cheap,
Exposing to the world too large an heap.
Of all we read, the Sacred Writ is best;
Where great truths are in fewest words exprest.

79

Wrestling with death, these lines I did indite; No other theme could give my soul delight. O that my youth had thus employ'd my pen! Or that I now could write as well as then! But 'tis of grace, if sickness, age, and pain, Are felt as throes, when we are born again : Timely they come to wean us from this Earth, As pangs that wait upon a second birth.

OF DIVINE POESY.

IN TWO CANTOS.

OCCASIONED UPON sight of the 53d chapter of ISAIAH,
TURNED INTO VERSE BY MRS. WHARTON.
CANTO I.

POETS we prize, when in their verse we find
Some great employment of a worthy mind.
Angels have been inquisitive to know
The secret, which this oracle does show.
What was to come, Isaiah did declare,
Which she describes, as if she had been there;
Had seen the wounds, which to the reader's view
She draws so lively, that they bleed anew.
As ivy thrives, which on the oak takes hold,
So, with the prophet's, may her lines grow old!
If they should die, who can the world forgive,
(Such pious lines!) when wanton Sappho's live?
Who with his breath his image did inspire,
Expects it should foment a nobler fire:

Not love which brutes, as well as men may know;
But love like his, to whom that breath we owe.
Verse so design'd, on that high subject wrote,
Is the perfection of an ardent thought,
The smoke which we from burning incense raise,
When we complete the sacrifice of praise.
In boundless verse the fancy soars too high
For any object, but the Deity.

What mortal can with Heaven pretend to share
In the superlatives of wise and fair!
A meaner subject when with these we grace,
A giant's habit on a dwarf we place.
Sacred should be the product of our Muse,
Like that sweet oil, above all private use,
On pain of death forbidden to be made,
But when it should be on the altar laid.
Verse shows a rich inestimable vein,
When, dropp'd from Heaven, 'tis thither sent again.
Of bounty 'tis, that he admits our praise,
Which does not him, but us that yield it, raise:
For, as that angel up to Heaven did rise,
Borne on the flame of Manoah's sacrifice:
So, wing'd with praise, we penetrate the sky,
Teach clouds, and stars, to praise him as we fly;
The whole creation (by our fall made groan !)
His praise to echo, and suspend their moan.
For that he reigns, all creatures should rejoice,
And we with songs supply their want of voice.
The church triumphant, and the church below,
In songs of praise their present union show:
Their joys are full; our expectation long;
In life we differ, but we join in song:
Angels and we, assisted by this art,
May sing together, though we dwell apart.

Thus we reach Heaven, while vainer poems must
No higher rise, than winds may lift the dust.
From that they spring; this, from his breath that
To the first dust th' immortal soul we have. [gave

His praise well sung (our great endeavour here) Shakes off the dust, and makes that breath appear.

CANTO II.

HE4, that did first this way of writing grace,
Convers'd with the Almighty face to face:
Wonders he did in sacred verse unfold,
When he had more than eighty winters told:
The writer feels no dire effect of age,
Nor verse, that flows from so divine a rage.
Eldest of poets, he beheld the light,
When first it triumph'd o'er eternal night:
Chaos he saw, and could distinctly tell
How that confusion into order fell:
As if consulted with, he has exprest
The work of the Creator, and his rest:
How the flood drown'd the first offending race,
Which might the figure of our globe deface.
For new-made earth, so even and so fair,
Less equal now, uncertain makes the air:
Surpris'd with heat and unexpected cold,
Early distempers make our youth look old:
Our days so evil, and so few, may tell
That on the ruins of that world we dwell.
Strong as the oaks that nourish'd them, and high,
That long-liv'd race did on their force rely,
Neglecting Heaven: but we, of shorter date!
Should be more mindful of impending fate.
To worms, that crawl upon this rubbish here,
This span of life may yet too long appear:
Enough to humble, and to make us great,
If it prepare us for a nobler seat.

Which well observing, he, in numerous lines,
Taught wretched man how fast his life declines:
In whom he dwelt, before the world was made,
And may again retire, when that shall fade.
The lasting Iliads have not liv'd so long,
As his and Deborah's triumphant song.
Delphos unknown, no Muse could them inspire,
But that which governs the celestial choir.
Heaven to the pious did this art reveal,
And from their store succeeding poets steal.
Homer's Scamander for the Trojans fought,
And swell'd so high, by her old Kishon taught:
His river scarce could fierce Achilles stay;
Her's, more successful, swept her foes away.
The host of Heaven, his Phœbus and his Mars,
He arms; instructed by her fighting stars,
She led them all against the common foe:
But he (misled by what he saw below!)
The powers above, like wretched men, divides,
And breaks their union into different sides.
The noblest parts which in his heroes shine
May be but copies of that heroine.
Homer himself and Agamemnon, she
The writer could, and the commander, be.
Truth she relates, in a sublimer strain

Than all the tales the boldest Greeks could feign:
For what she sung, that Spirit did indite,
Which gave her courage and success in fight.
A double garland crowns the matchless dame;
From Heaven her poem and her conquest came.
Though of the Jews she merit most esteem,
Yet here the Christian has the greater theme:
Her martial song describes how Sis'ra fell:
This sings our triumph over Death and Hell,
The rising light employ'd the sacred breath
Of the blest Virgin and Elizabeth.

+ Moses.

In songs of joy the angels sung his birth:
Here, how he treated was upon the Earth,
Trembling we read! th' affliction and the scorn,
Which, for our guilt, so patiently was borne !
Conception, birth, and suffering, all belong
(Though various parts) to one celestial song :
And she, well using so divine an art,
Has, in this concert, sung the tragic part.

As Hannah's seed was vow'd to sacred use,
So here this lady consecrates her Muse;
With like reward may Heaven her bed adorn,
With fruit as fair, as by her Muse is born!

ON THE

PARAPHRASE ON THE LORD'S PRAYER,

WRITTEN BY MRS. WHARTON.

SILENCE, ye winds! listen ethereal lights!
While our Urania sings what Heaven indites:
The numbers are the nymph's; but from above
Descends the pledge of that eternal love.
Here wretched mortals have not leave alone,
But are instructed to approach his throne:
And how can he to miserable men
Deny requests, which his own hand did pen?
In the Evangelists we find the prose,
Which, paraphras'd by her, a poem grows;
A devout rapture! so divine a hymn,
It may become the highest seraphim!
For they, like her, in that celestial choir,
Sing only what the Spirit does inspire.
Taught by our Lord, and theirs, with us they may
For all, but pardon for offences, pray.

SOME REFLECTIONS OF HIS UPON THE SEVERAL PETITIONS IN THE SAME PRAYER.

I. His sacred name, with reverence profound, Should mention'd be, and trembling at the sound! It was Jehovah; 'tis our Father now;

So low to us does Heaven vouchsafe to bows!
He brought it down, that taught us how to pray,
And did so dearly for our ransom pay.

II. His kingdom come. For this we pray in vain,
Unless he does in our affections reign:
Absurd it were to wish for such a King,
And not obedience to his sceptre bring,
Whose yoke is easy, and his burthen light,
His service freedom, and his judgments right.

III. His will be done. In fact 'tis always done;
But, as in Heaven, it must be made our own.
His will should all our inclinations sway,
Whom Nature and the universe obey.
Happy the man! whose wishes are confin'd
To what has been eternally design'd;
Referring all to his paternal care,

To whom more dear, than to ourselves, we are.
IV. It is not what our avarice hoards up;
'Tis he that feeds us, and that fills our cup;
Like new-born babes, depending on the breast,
From day to day, we on his bounty feast.
Nor should the soul expect above a day,
To dwell in her frail tenement of clay:
The setting Sun should seem to bound our race,
And the new day a gift of special grace.

V. That he should all our trespasses forgive,
While we in hatred with our neighbours live;

'Psalm xviii. 9.

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