and Dependance on its Protection,

That blessings truly sacred, and when giv'n
Mark'd with the signature and stamp of heav'n,
The word of prophesy, those truths divine
Which make that heav'n if thou desire it thine,
(Awful alternate! believ❜d belov'd,

Thy glory; and thy shame, if unimprov'd)
Are never long vouchsaf'd, if push'd aside
With cold disgust or philosophie pride;
And that, judicially withdrawn, disgrace,
Error, and darkness, occupy their place.

A world is up in arms, and thou, a spot
Not quickly found if negligently sought,
Thy soul as ample as thy bounds are small,
Endur'st the brunt, and dar'st defy them all:
And wilt thou join to this bold enterprize
A bolder still, a contest with the skies?
Remember, if he guard thee and secure,
Whoe'er assails thee, thy success is sure;
But, if he leave thee, though the skill and pow'r

Of nations, sworn to spoil thee and devour,

without over-rating our own Security by the Dangers of others,

Were all collected in thy single arm,

And thou could'st laugh away the fear of harm, That strength would fail, oppos'd against the push And feeble onset of a pigmy rush,

Say not (and, if the thought of such defence Should spring within thy bosom, drive it thence) What nation amongst all thy foes is free From crimes as base as any charg'd on me? Their measure fill'd, they too shall pay the debt Which God, though long forborn, will not forget. But know that wrath divine, when most severe, Makes justice still the guide of his career, And will not punish, in one mingled crowd, Them without light, and thee without a cloud.

Muse, hang this harp upon yon aged beech, Still murm'ring with the solemn truths I teach; . And, while, at intervals, a cold blast sings Through the dry leaves, and pants upon the strings, My soul shall sigh in secret, and lament

A nation scourg'd, yet tardy to repent.

and Truth will finally triumph.

I know the warning song is sung in vain

;

That few will hear, and fewer heed the strain ;
But, if a sweeter voice, and one design'd

A blessing to my country and mankind,
Reclaim the wand'ring thousands, and bring home
A flock so scatter'd and so wont to roam,
Then place it once again between my knees;
The sound of truth will then be sure to please:
And truth alone, where'er my life be cast,
In scenes of plenty or the pining waste,

Shall be my chosen theme, my glory to the last.

HOPE.

-doceas iter et sacra ostia pandas.
VIRG. En. 6,

ASK what is human life-the sage replies,
With disappointment low'ring in his eyes,
A painful passage o'er a restless flood,
A vain pursuit of fugitive false good,
A scene of fancied bliss and heart-felt care,
Closing at last in darkness and despair.

The Poor-Riches-Vicissitudes of Fortune.

The

poor, inur'd to drudg❜ry and distress,
Act without aim, think little, and feel less,
And no where, but in feign'd Arcadian scenes,
Taste happiness, or know what pleasure means.
Riches are pass'd away from hand to hand,
As fortune, vice, or folly, may command.

As in a dance the pair that take the lead
Turn downward, and the lowest pair succeed,
So shifting and so various is the plan

By which Heav'n rules the mixt affairs of man :
Vicissitude wheels round the motley crow'd,
The rich grow poor, the poor become purse-proud;

Bus'ness is labour, and, man's weakness such,
Pleasure is labour too, and tires as much,
The very sense of it foregoes its use,
By repetition pall'd, by age obtuse.

Youth lost in dissipation, we deplore,

Through life's sad remnant, what no sighs restore; Our years, a fruitless race without a prize,

Too many, yet too few to make us wise.