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But let the sober matron wear

Her own mechanic sober air:

Ah me! ill suits, alas! the sprightly jig,
Long robes of ermine, or Sir Cloudesley's wig.
Come, placid Dulness, gently come,
And all my faculties benumb;

Let thought turn exile, while the vacant mind
To trickie words and pretty phrase confined,
Pumping for trim description's art,

To win the ear, neglects the heart.
So shall thy sister Taste's peculiar sons,
Lineal descendants from the Goths and Huns,
Struck with the true and grand sublime

Of rhythm converted into rime,

Court the quaint Muse, and con her lessons o'er,
When sleep the sluggish waves by Granta's shore:
There shall each poet share and trim,
Stretch, cramp, or lop the verse's limb,
While rebel Wit beholds them with disdain,
And Fancy flies aloft, nor heeds their servile chain.

2.

O Fancy, bright aërial maid!

Where have thy vagrant footsteps strayed?
For, Ah! I miss thee 'midst thy wonted haunt,
Since silent now the enthusiastic chaunt,
Which erst like frenzy rolled along,

Driven by the impetuous tide of song;
Rushing secure where native genius bore,
Not cautious coasting by the shelving shore.
Hail to the sons of modern Rime,
Mechanic dealers in sublime,

Whose lady Muse full wantonly is drest,
In light expression quaint, and tinsel vest,
Where swelling epithets are laid
(Art's ineffectual parade)

As varnish on the cheek of harlot light;
The rest, thin sown with profit or delight,
But ill compares with ancient song,
Where Genius poured its flood along;
Yet such is Art's presumptuous idle claim,
She marshals out the way to modern fame;
From Grecian fable's pompous lore
Description's studied, glittering store,

Smooth, soothing sounds, and sweet alternate rime,
Clinking, like change of bells, in tingle tangle chime.

3.

The lark shall soar in every Ode,

With flowers of light description strewed;

And sweetly, warbling Philomel, shall flow
Thy soothing sadness in mechanic woe.

Trim epithets shall spread their gloss,
While every cell's o'ergrown with moss:
Here oaks shall rise in chains of ivy bound,

There mouldering stones o'erspread the rugged ground.
Here forests brown, and azure hills,

There babbling fonts, and prattling rills;
Here some gay river floats in crispèd streams,
While the bright sun now gilds his morning beams,
Or sinking on his Thetis' breast,
Drives in description down the west.
Oh let me boast, with pride-becoming skill,
I crown the summit of Parnassus' hill:

While Taste and Genius shall dispense,
And sound shall triumph over sense;
O'er the gay mead with curious steps I'll stray;
And, like the bee, steal all the sweets away;
Extract its beauty, and its power,

From every new poetic flower,

And sweets collected may a wreath compose,

To bind the poet's brow, or please the critic's nose.

LINES WRITTEN UNDER THE INFLUENCE OF DELIRIUM.

HATRED and vengeance, my eternal portion

Scarce can endure delay of execution,—
Wait with impatient readiness to seize my

Soul in a moment.

Damned below Judas; more abhorred than he was,
Who for a few pence sold his holy Master!

Twice-betrayed Jesus me, the last delinquent,

Deems the profanest.

Man disavows, and Deity disowns me,
Hell might afford my miseries a shelter;

Therefore, Hell keeps her ever-hungry mouths all
Bolted against me.

Hard lot! encompassed with a thousand dangers;
Weary, faint, trembling with a thousand terrors,
I'm called, if vanquished! to receive a sentence
Worse than Abiram's.

Him the vindictive rod of angry Justice

Sent quick and howling to the centre headlong;
I, fed with judgment, in a fleshly tomb, am

Buried above ground.

OLNEY HYMNS.

I. WALKING WITH GOD.
Gen. v. 24.

OH for a closer walk with God!
A calm and heavenly frame;
A light to shine upon the road
That leads me to the Lamb!
Where is the blessedness I knew
When first I saw the Lord?
Where is the soul-refreshing view
Of Jesus and his word?

What peaceful hours I once enjoyed!
How sweet their memory still!
But they have left an aching void

The world can never fill.

Return, O holy Dove, return,

Sweet messenger of rest!

I hate the sins that made thee mourn, And drove thee from my breast.

The dearest idol I have known,.

Whate'er that idol be,

Help me to tear it from thy throne,
And worship only thee.

So shall my walk be close with God,
Calm and serene my frame;
So purer light shall mark the road
That leads me to the Lamb.

II. JEHOVAH-JIREH.-THE Lord
WILL PROVIDE. Gen. xxii. 14.
THE saints should never be dismayed,
Nor sink in hopeless fear;
For when they least expect his aid,
The Saviour will appear.

This Abraham found: he raised the knife;

God saw, and said, "Forbear!
Yon ram shall yield his meaner life;
Behold the victim there."

Once David seemed Saul's certain prey;
But hark! the foe's at hand;
Saul turns his arms another way,
To save the invaded land.

When Jonah sunk beneath the wave,
He thought to rise no more;
But God prepared a fish to save,

And bear him to the shore.

Blest proofs of power and grace divine,
That meet us in his word!
May every deep-felt care of mine
Be trusted with the Lord.

Wait for his seasonable aid,

And though it tarry, wait: The promise may be long delayed, But cannot come too late.

III. JEHOVAH-ROPHI.—I AM THE
LORD THAT HEALETH THEE.
Exod. xv. 26.

HEAL us, Emmanuel! here we are,
Waiting to feel thy touch:
Deep-wounded souls to thee repair,
And, Saviour, we are such.

Our faith is feeble, we confess,
We faintly trust thy word;
But wilt thou pity us the less?

Be that far from thee, Lord!

Remember him who once applied,
With trembling, for relief;

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Lord, I believe," with tears he cried, "Oh, help my unbelief!"

She too, who touched thee in the press, And healing virtue stole,

Was answered, "Daughter, go in peace, Thy faith hath made thee whole."

Concealed amid the gathering throng,

She would have shunned thy view; And if her faith was firm and strong,

Had strong misgivings too.

Like her, with hopes and fears we come,
To touch thee, if we may;
Oh! send us not despairing home!
Send none unhealed away!

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By whom was David taught
To aim the deadly blow,
When he Goliath fought,

And laid the Gittite low?

Nor sword nor spear the stripling took,
But chose a pebble from the brook.

'Twas Israel's God and King
Who sent him to the fight;
Who gave him strength to sling,
And skill to aim aright.

Ye feeble saints, your strength endures,
Because young David's God is yours.

Who ordered Gideon forth
To storm the invaders' camp,
With arms of little worth,

A pitcher and a lamp?

The trumpets made his coming known, And all the host was overthrown.

Oh! I have seen the day,
When with a single word,
God helping me to say,

"My trust is in the Lord,"

My soul hath quelled a thousand foes, Fearless of all that could oppose.

But unbelief, self-will,

Self-righteousness, and pride, How often do they steal

My weapon from my side!

Yet David's Lord, and Gideon's friend, Will help his servant to the end.

V. JEHOVAH-SHALOM. THE
LORD SEND PEACE. Judges vi. 24.
JESUS! whose blood so freely streamed
To satisfy the law's demand;
By thee from guilt and wrath redeemed,
Before the Father's face I stand.

To reconcile offending man,

Make Justice drop her angry rod; What creature could have formed the plan,

Or who fulfil it but a God?

No drop remains of all the curse,

For wretches who deserved the whole; No arrows dipt in wrath to pierce

The guilty, but returning soul.

Peace by such means so dearly bought, What rebel could have hoped to see? Peace, by his injured Sovereign wrought, His Sovereign fastened to a tree.

Now, Lord, thy feeble worm prepare! For strife with earth and hell begins; Confirm and gird me for the war;

They hate the soul that hates his sins. Let them in horrid league agree!

They may assault, they may distress; But cannot quench thy love to me, Nor rob me of the Lord my peace.

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Unfathomable wonder,

And mystery divine! The Voice that speaks in thunder, Says, "Sinner, I am thine!"

VII. VANITY OF THE WORLD. GOD gives his mercies to be spent ; Your hoard will do your soul no good; Gold is a blessing only lent,

Repaid by giving others food. The world's esteem is but a bribe, To buy their peace you sell your own; The slave of a vain-glorious tribe, Who hate you while they make you

known.

The joy that vain amusements give, Oh! sad conclusion that it brings! The honey of a crowded hive,

Defended by a thousand stings.
'Tis thus the world rewards the fools
That live upon her treacherous smiles;
She leads them blindfold by her rules,
And ruins all whom she beguiles.

God knows the thousands who go down
From pleasure into endless woe:
And with a long despairing groan
Blaspheme their Maker as they go.
O fearful thought! be timely wise;
Delight but in a Saviour's charms,
And God shall take you to the skies,
Embraced in everlasting arms.

VIII. O LORD, I WILL PRAISE
THEE. Isaiah xii. I.

I WILL praise thee every day
Now thine anger's turned away;
Comfortable thoughts arise
From the bleeding sacrifice.

Here, in the fair Gospel-field,
Wells of free salvation yield
Streams of life, a plenteous store,
And my soul shall thirst no more.

Jesus is become at length
My salvation and my strength;
And his praises shall prolong,
While I live, my pleasant song.

Praise ye, then, his glorious name, Publish his exalted fame!

Still his worth your praise exceeds ;
Excellent are all his deeds.

Raise again the joyful sound,
Let the nations roll it round!
Zion, shout! for this is he;
God the Saviour dwells in thee !

IX. THE CONTRITE HEART.
Isaiah lvii. 15.

THE Lord will happiness divine
On contrite hearts bestow;
Then tell me, gracious God, is mine
A contrite heart, or no?

I hear, but seem to hear in vain,
Insensible as steel;

If aught is felt, 'tis only pain,
To find I cannot feel.

I sometimes think myself inclined
To love thee, if I could;
But often feel another mind,

Averse to all that's good.

My best desires are faint and few,
I fain would strive for more;
But when I cry, "My strength renew!'
Seem weaker than before.

Thy saints are comforted, I know,
And love thy house of prayer;
I therefore go where others go,
But find no comfort there.

Oh make this heart rejoice or ache;
Decide this doubt for me;
And if it be not broken, break,—
And heal it if it be.

X. THE FUTURE PEACE AND GLORY OF THE CHURCH. Isaiah 1x. 15-20.

HEAR what God the Lord hath spoken: "O my people, faint and few, Comfortless, afflicted, broken,

Fair abodes I build for you. Thorns of heartfelt tribulation

Shall no more perplex your ways: You shall name your walls Salvation, And your gates shall all be Praise.

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