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"Tis warm Affection's links that mildly join
In sacred sympathy each kindred soul, When, rich with mercies from the hand divine,
Days, months, and years, in blissful silence roll. Such were the hours that once in rapture flew,
While every day increase of bliss supplied : With every
hour some sweeter pleasure grew, Each wish prevented, and each want untried. Yet, e'en while Freedom spread her charms
around, While laughed the morn, and every joy was mine, Could fancied sorrows real pleasures wound,
And passion thwart reflection's cool design. Fool that I was-full oft I vowed in vain,
To rule my life with Reason's sober sway; Till headstrong Passion snatched the slackened
rein, And chased Reflection's milder power away. Then, when o'erwhelmed I lay with fancied woe,
Thy present image cheered the darkling scene, Methinks e'en now thy gentle dictates flow,
Queen of each thought, of each affection queen. For thou art all that Heaven itself could form,
The noblest soul and meekest spirit joined ; Nor Fortune's dream, nor Fate's o'erwhelming
storm Can change th' unaltered tenor of thy mind. O yet, while youth smiles in its earliest prime,
This ruffian soul with meekest thoughts inspire, Thoughts like thine own; ere the rude hand of
Time Light every spark, and fan the rising fire. While thus, entranced I soothed each wishful care
With silent Meditation's gentle power, Slow sunk the Sun, while poured on Night s dullear,
These awful dictates charmed the sacred hour :
Say why, my son, thus pensive and alone, “ Does thy sad heart with fancied sorrows
mourn ; “ Think'st thou these childish sighs, this abject
groan, " Can bid the scenes of former bliss return? Know, then, that years on hasty pinions fly,
“ Not pleasure's poison can their force destroy; “ Silent we steal through life, are born and die,
“ Catch fancied bliss, and taste unreal joy. “ But oh! how wretched he, whose infant heart
“ No mother's tender precepts e'er refined; “ To him no joys can love's sweet balm impart,
“ Or soft affection sooth his tortured mind. “ Go then,—to Heaven thy pure devotions pay;
“ Go soothe thy Mother's soul with filial zeal, 66 Tear from her heart each anxious care away,
“ Feel what you are, and dare be what you feel.”
To His attentive ear thy griefs confide;
His arm sustain thee, and His counsel guide. No cold neglect the faithful heart repays,
Whose stedfast aim solicits His regard ; Each wish for merit, each attempt to please
He views, and His approving smiles, reward. Thro' ev'ry changing scene His constant love
Alike shall make its happy object blest; Shall ev'ry joy of active life improve,
And soothe its latest agonies to rest.
ON A THUNDER STORM.
By Bishop Lowth, at the age of 14. LOCKED in the arms of balmy sleep
From every care of day;
And as serene, I lay.
Quick lightnings round me glare,
And wakes the mind to prayer. Whate'er, O LORD, in this dread hour,
These awful sounds portend, Whether sole engines of Thy power,
Or groans for Nature's end, Vouchsafe, amidst this time of dread,
Thy gracious arm to rear;
And all my soul holds dear.
This awful tempest stirs ;
Those flames Thy messengers ;
Beneath the passing sun:
And let that will be done!
One truth be understood :
And all He makes is good. But if, as Nature's laws ordain,
Not destined by Thy will, The bolt exerts its wild domain, Self-authorized to kill;
Quick interpose, all-gracious LORD,
In this tremendous night, Arise, and be alike adored,
For mercy and for might.
Pours forth the drunken jest,
Starts from its troubled rest.
All trembling pale with fear; Where sickness lifts its languid eyes.
Oh pour Thy comforts there.
ON THE BATH HOSPITAL.
Open to the sick Poor of every Part of the World.
Anstey. O! PAUSE awhile, whoe'er thou art
That drink'st this healing stream ;
Diffused its heavenly beam
This friendly aid denies ;
He unregarded lies.
Relieve his heart-felt woe ;
In genial currents flow.
may thy years from grief, and pain,
And pining want, be free;
The poor receive from thee.
CHILD OF MAN.-Rev. Thomas Bowdler.