If fentence of eternal pain belong

To ev'ry fudden flip and tranfient wrong,
Then heav'n enjoins the fallible and frail

An hopeless task, and damns them if they fail!
My creed (whatever fome creed-makers mean
By Athanafian nonsense, or Nicene)

My creed is he is fafe that does his best,
And death's a doom sufficient for the reft.
Right, fays an enfign; and, for aught I fee,
Your faith and mine fubftantially agree:
The best of ev'ry man's performance here
Is to discharge the duties of his fphere.
A lawyer's dealings fhould be juft and fair-
Honesty shines with great advantage there.
Fafting and pray'r fit well upon a priest-
A decent caution and referve at least.

A foldier's beft is courage in the field,
With nothing here that wants to be conceal'd:
Manly deportment, gallant, eafy, gay;

An hand as lib'ral as the light of day.

The foldier thus endow'd, who never shrinks,

Nor closets up his thought, whate'er he thinks,
Who fcorns to do an injury by stealth,

Must go to heav'n-and I must drink his health..
Sir Smug, he cries, (for lowest at the board-
Juft made fifth chaplain of his patron lord,
His shoulders witneffing by many a fhrug

How much his feelings fuffered-fat Sir Smug)

Your office is to winnow falfe from true;

Come, prophet, drink, and tell us-What think you?.
Sighing and fmiling as he takes his glafs,
Which they that woo preferment rarely pass,
Fallible man, the church-bred youth replies,
Is ftill found fallible, however wife;

And diff'ring judgments ferve but to declare

That truth lies fomewhere, if we knew but where.
Of all it ever was my lot to read,

Of critics now alive, or long fince dead,

The book of all the world that charm'd me moft

Was-well-a-day, the title page was loft!

The writer well remarks, an heart that knows
To take with gratitude what heaven bestows,

With prudence always ready at our call
To guide our use of it, is all in all.
Doubtless it is.-To which, of my own ftore,

I fuperadd a few effentials more;

But thefe, excufe the liberty I take,
I wave juft now, for converfation fake.

Spoke like an oracle, they all exclaim,

And add Right Rev'rend to Smug's honour'd name!
And yet our lot is giv'n us in a land

Where busy arts are never at a stand;
Where science points her telescopic eye,

Familiar with the wonders of the sky;
Where bold inquiry, diving out of fight,
Brings many a precious pearl of truth to light;
Where nought eludes the perfevering queft,

That fashion, taste, or luxury, fuggeft.

But, above all, in her own light array'd, See mercy's grand apocalypse display'd!

The facred book no longer fuffers wrong,
Bound in the fetters of an unknown tongue;
But fpeaks with plainness, art could never mend,
What fimpleft minds can fooneft comprehend.
God gives the word-the preachers throng around,
Live from his lips, and spread the glorious found:
That found bespeaks falvation on her way,
The trumpet of a life-reftoring day!

'Tis heard where England's eastern glory fhines, And in the gulphs of her Cornubian mines.

And still it spreads. See Germany fend forth

*

Her fons to pour it on the fartheft north:

Fir'd with a zeal peculiar, they defy

The rage and rigour of a polar sky,

And plant fuccefsfully fweet Sharon's rosc

On icy plains, and in eternal fnows.

Oh, bleft within th' enclofure of your rocks, Nor herds have ye to boaft, nor bleating flocks; No fertilizing streams your fields divide,

That show, revers'd, the villas on their fide;

The Moravian miffionaries in Greenland. Vide Krantz.

No groves have ye; no cheerful found of bird,
Or voice of turtle, in your land is heard ;
Nor grateful eglantine regales the smell
Of those that walk at ev'ning where ye dwell:
But winter, arm'd with terrors here unknown,
Sits abfolute on his unfhaken throne;

Piles up his ftores amidft the frozen wafte,

And bids the mountains he has built ftand faft;

Beckons the legions of his ftorms away

land a prey;

From happier scenes, to make your
Proclaims the foil a conqueft he has won,
And fcorns to fhare it with the diftant fun.

-Yet truth is your's, remote, unenvied isle!
And peace, the genuine offspring of her fmile;
The pride of letter'd ignorance, that binds
In chains of errour our accomplish'd minds,
That decks, with all the fplendour of the true,
A falfe religion, is unknown to you.

Nature indeed vouchsafes, for our delight,

The fweet viciffitudes of day and night;