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Perhaps, the Christian Volume is the theme,
How guiltless blood for guilty man was fhed;
How he who bore in heav'n the second name,
Had not on earth, whereon to lay his head.
How his first followers and servants fped ;
The precepts fage they wrote to many a land;
How he who lone in Patmos banished,
Saw in the sun a mighty angel ftand:
And heard Great Babylon's doom pronounced by Heaven's
Then kneeling down to Heav'n's ETERNAL Kine,
The Saint, the Father, and the Husband prays :
Hope springs exulting on triumphant wing,
That thus they all shall meet in future days ;
There, ever balk in uncreated rays, :
No more to sigh or shed the bitter tear ;
Together hymning their Creator's praise,
In such society, yet still more dear :
While circling time moves round in an eternal sphere.
Compared with this how poor religion's pride,
In all the pomp of method, and of art
When men display to congregations wide,
Devotion's ev'ry grace, except the heart !
The Power incensed the pageant will desert,
The pompous train, the facerdotal sole,
But haply in fome cottage far apart,
May hear well pleased the language of the soul ;
And in his Book of Life the inmates poor enroll.
Then homeward all take off their their several way;
The youngling cottagers retire to reft,
The parent pair their secret homage pays,
And proffer up to Heav'n the warm request,
That He who fills the raven's clam'rous neft,
And decks the lily fair in flow'ry pride,
Would in the way his wisdom sees the best,
For them, and for their little ones, provide,
Buy chiefly in their hearts with grace divine reside.
From scenes like these old, Scotia's grandeur springs,
That makes her loved at home, rever'd abroad ;
Princes and lords are but the breath of kings,
66 An honest man's the nobleft work of God!".
And certes in fair Virtue's heav'nly road
The cottage leaves the palace far behind ;
What is a lordling's pomp? a cumb’rous load,
Disguising oft the wretch of human kind,
Studied in arts of hell, in wickedness refined.
O Scotia ! my dear, my native foil !
For whom my warmest wish to Heav'n is fent !
Long may thy hardy fonts of ruftic toil,
Be blest with health, and peace,' and sweet content
And, O! may Heav'n their fimple lives preveni,
From luxury's contagion, weak and vile !
Then, howe'er crowns aud coronets be rent.
A virtuous populace may rise the while
And land a wall of fire around their much-loved ille.
O thou! who pour'd the patriotic tide,
That streamed thro' Wallace's undaunted heart:
Who dared to nobly fem tyrannic pride,
Or nobly die, the second glorious part,
(The patriot's God, peculiarly thou art,
His friend, inspirer, guardian, and reward !)
O never, never, Scotia’s realm defert,
But fill the Patriot, and the Patriot Bard,
In bright succeslion raise, her ornament and guard !
The Modern Courtier.
RAY say what's that which smirking trips this way.
That powder'd thing, fo neat, fo trim, fo gay?
Adorn'd with tambour'd vest, and spangled sword,
That supple servile thing ?-O! that's a Lord!
You jeft—that thing a Peer? an English Peer?
Who ought (with head, estate, and conscience clear)
Either in grave debate, or hardy fight,
Firmly maintain a free-born people's right:
Surely those lords were of another breed
Who met their monarch John at Runnemede ;
And, clad in feel, there in a glorious hour
Made the curft tyrant feel the people's pow'r ;
Made him confess, beneath that awful rod,
Their voice united is the voice of God.
The Pathetic farewell of Leonidas, to his Wife and Family.
Published by J.Roach Woburn Street New Drury Theatre Revat May 1.1795