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A PARAPHRASE On the latter Part of the Sixth Chapter of St. Mat
thew.-Thomson. When my breast labours with oppressive care, And o’er my cheek descends the falling tear; While all my warring passions are at strife, O, let me listen to the words of life! Raptures deep-felt His doctrine did impart, And thus He raised from earth the drooping heart. Think not, when all your scanty stores afford, Is spread at once upon the sparing board; Think not, when worn the homely robe appears, While, on the roof, the howling tempest bears ; What farther shall this feeble life sustain, And what shall clothe these shiv’ring limbs again. Say, does not life its nourishment exceed? And the fair body its investing weed ? Behold! and look away your low despairSee the light tenants of the barren air : To them, nor stores, nor granaries, belong, Nought but the woodland, and the pleasing song; Yet, your kind heavenly Father bends His eye On the least wing, that fits along the sky:To Him they sing, when Spring renews the plain, To Him they cry, in Winter's pinching reign; Nor is their music, nor their plaint in vain : He hears the gay, and the distressful call, And with unsparing bounty fills them all. Observe the rising lily's snowy grace, Observe the various vegetable race; They neither toil, nor spin, but careless grow, Yet see how warm they blush! how bright they
glow! What regal vestments can with them compare! What king so shining! or what queen so fair !
If, ceaseless, thus the fowls of heaven He feeds,
Epistle to the Corinthians.-Prior.
weary tortures, and rejoice in fire :
To one fixt purpose dedicates its power,
ON THE 25TH OF OCTOBER, 1819 ANOTHER year! a year of solitude, Of darkness, yet of peace, has past,—and he, The father of his people, marks it not! Alike to him all seasons and their change, His eyes are rayless, and his heart is cold; He wields a barren sceptre,-yet his brow, Of regal diadem despoiled, still wears The crown of glory his the hoary head, Found in the way of righteousness and truth. O thou! our father : thou, our prince and friend ! How many a sight that would have grieved thine
eyes, How many a pang that would have wrung thy heart, Has God withheld, and thine affliction spared ! The rose of England wither'd in its bud, The voice of wailing was in ev'ry tent, Yet thy day passed unruffled as before. The partner of thy hopes, when hope was young. She who had shared thy first, thy youthful love, And ministered to ev'ry sorrow;she Fell by long sickness, and a lingering death ; And thou hadst neither tear nor sigh to give. Yet thou art not forgotten !- Dear thou wast In happier moments; and oh! dearer far Now that the hand of God has touched thee; still Hallowed by all the memory of the past Shall be this day. Sacred by lengthened years, And venerable by sufferings, mayst thou reach,
In Heaven's appointed time, thy last abode,
THE FOLLOWING LINES
Are said to have been written by an amiable Princess,
(Amelia), whose sufferings and exemplary patience
ON THE DEATH OF THE HON. MR. DAWSON.
Sport in the sunshine of life's cloudless sky;
Dream of no threat’ning storm, no danger nigh: A little while your fond pursuits forbear!
One hour, at least, to serious thought is due! A friend demands the tribute of a tear;
A friend, who once had hopes, as bright as you !
Say, did not pleasure sparkle in his eye?
He died ;--reflect! repent !-Ye soon may die !