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And many a pang, experienc'd still within,
Reminds them of their hated inmate, sin;

But ills of ev'ry shape and ev'ry name
Transform'd to blessings miss their cruel aim,
And ev'ry moment's calm, that sooths the breast,
Is given in earnest of eternal rest.

Ah, be not sad, although thy lot be cast Far from the flock, and in a boundless waste! No shepherd's tents within thy view appear, But the chief Shepherd even there is near; Thy tender sorrows and thy plaintive strain Flow in a foreign land, but not in vain; Thy tears all issue from a source divine, And ev'ry drop bespeaks a Saviour thineSo once in Gideon's fleece the dews were found, And drought on all the drooping herbs around.

TO THE

REV. W. CAWTHORNE UNWIN.

UNWIN, I should but ill repay

The kindness of a friend, Whose worth deserves as warm a lay As ever friendship penn'd,

Thy name omitted in a page,

That would reclaim a vicious age.

A union formed, as mine with thee,
Not rashly, nor in sport,
May be as fervent in degree,
And faithful in its sort,

And may as rich in comfort prove,
As that of true fraternal love.

The bud inserted in the rind,
The bud of peach or rose,
Adorns, though diff'ring in its kind,

The stock whereon it grows,

With flow'r as sweet, or fruit as fair,

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Not rich, I render what I may,
I seize thy name in haste,
And place it in this first essay,

Lest this should prove the last.

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'Tis where it should be-in a plan, That holds in view the good of man.

The poet's lyre, to fix his fame,
Should be the poet's heart;
Affection lights a brighter flame
Than ever blaz'd by art.
No muses on these lines attend,
I sink the poet in the friend.

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