The cause is Conscience-Conscience oft Her tale of guilt renews: Her voice is terrible though soft, Then anxious to be longer spared 'Tis judgment shakes him; there's the fear, Pay!-follow Christ, and all is paid; ON A SIMILAR OCCASION, FOR THE YEAR 1793. De sacris autem hæc sit una sententia, ut conserventur. CIC. DE LEG. But let us all concur in this one sentiment, that things sacred be inviolate. He lives, who lives to God alone, And all are dead beside; For other source than God is none Whence life can be supplied. To live to God is to requite His love as best we may; To make his precepts our delight, But, life, within a narrow ring Is falsely named, and no such thing, Can life in them deserve the name, Who only live to prove For what poor toys they can disclaim Who, much diseased, yet nothing feel; Who deem his house a useless place, Who trample order; and the day, If scorn of God's commands, impressed The better part of man unblessed Such want it, and that want uncured Till man resigns his breath, Sad period to a pleasant course! Yet so will God repay Sabbaths profaned without remorse, INSCRIPTION FOR THE TOMB OF MR. HAMILTON. PAUSE here, and think: a monitory rhyme Consult life's silent clock, thy bounding vein; And many a tomb, like HAMILTON's, aloud EPITAPH ON A HARE. HERE lies, whom hound did ne'er pursue, Nor ear heard huntsman's halloo. Old Tiney, surliest of his kind, Though duly from my hand he took He did it with a jealous look, And, when he could, would bite. His diet was of wheaten bread, With sand to scour his maw. On twigs of hawthorn he regaled, And, when his juicy salads failed, A Turkey carpet was his lawn, His frisking was at evening hours, Or when a storm drew near. Eight years and five round-rolling moons And every night at play. I kept him for his humour's sake, For he would oft beguile My heart of thoughts that made it ache, And force me to a smile. But now beneath his walnut shade He, still more aged, feels the shocks, EPITAPHIUM ALTERUM. Hic etiam jacet, Qui totum novennium vixit, Puss. Siste paulisper, Qui præteriturus es, Et tecum sic reputa Hunc neque canis venaticus, Nec imbres nimii Confecere: Tamen mortuus est Et moriar ego. |