When fouls drawn upwards, in communion sweet,

Enjoy the ftillness of fome clofe retreat,

Discourse, as if releas'd and safe at home,

Of dangers past and wonders yet to come,

And spread the facred treasures of the breaft
Upon the lap of covenanted reft.

What, always dreaming over heav'nly things,
Like angel heads in stone with pigeon-wings?
Canting and whining out all day the word,
And half the night? fanatic and abfurd!
Mine be the friend lefs frequent in his pray'rs,
Who makes no bustle with his foul's affairs,
Whofe wit can brighten up a wintry day,
And chafe the fplenetic dull hours away;
Content on earth in earthly things to fhine,
Who waits for heav'n ere he becomes divine,
Leaves faints t' enjoy those altitudes they teach,
And plucks the fruit plac'd more within his reach.
Well spoken, Advocate of fin and shame,
Known by thy bleating-Ignorance thy name.

Is fparkling wit the world's exclusive right,

The fixt fee-simple of the vain and light?
Can hopes of heav'n, bright profpects of an hour,
That come to waft us out of forrow's pow'r,
Obfcure or quench a faculty that finds

Its happiest foil in the ferenest minds?
Religion curbs indeed its wanton play,
And brings the trifler under rig'rous fway,
But gives it usefulness unknown before,
And, purifying, makes it shine the more.
A Chriftian's wit is inoffenfive light,

A beam that aids, but never grieves the fight;
Vig'rous in age as in the flush of youth,

'Tis always active on the fide of truth;
Temp❜rance and peace infure its healthful state,
And make it brightest at its latest date.
Oh I have feen (nor hope perhaps in vain,
Ere life go down, to fee fuch fights again)

A vet'ran warrior in the Christian field,

Who never faw the fword he could not wield;

Grave without dulness, learned without pride,

Exact, yet not precife, though meek, keen-ey'd;
A man that would have foiled, at their own play,
A dozen would-be's of the modern day;
Who, when occafion juftified its use,
Had wit as bright as ready to produce,
Could fetch from records of an earlier age,
Or from philofophy's enlighten'd page,
His rich materials, and regale your ear
With ftrains it was a privilege to hear:
Yet, above all, his luxury fupreme,

And his chief glory, was the gospel theme;
There he was copious as old Greece or Rome,
His happy eloquence feem'd there at home,
Ambitious not to fhine or to excel,

But to treat juftly what he lov'd fo well.

It moves me more perhaps than folly ought, When fome green heads, as void of wit as thought, Suppose themselves monopolifts of fense,

And wifer men's ability pretence.

Though time will wear us, and we must grow old,
Such men are not forgot as foon as cold,

Their fragrant mem'ry will out-laft their tomb,
Embalm'd for ever in its own perfume:

And, to fay truth, though in its early prime,
And when unftain'd with any groffer crime,
Youth has a sprightliness and fire to boast,
That in the valley of decline are loft,

And virtue with peculiar charms appears,
Crown'd with the garland of life's blooming years;
Yet age, by long experience well inform'd,

Well read, well temper'd, with religion warm'd,
That fire abated which impels rafh youth,
Proud of his fpeed to overfhoot the truth,
As time improves the grape's authentic juice,
Mellows and makes the fpeech more fit for use,
And claims a rev'rence in its fhort'ning day,
That 'tis an honour and a joy to pay.

The fruits of age, lefs fair, are yet more found,

Than thofe a brighter feafon pours around;

And, like the ftores autumnal funs mature,
Through wintry rigours unimpair'd endure.

What is fanatic frenzy, scorn'd so much,
And dreaded more than a contagious touch?
I grant it dang'rous, and approve your fear,
That fire is catching if you draw too near;
But fage obfervers oft mistake the flame,
And give true piety that odious name.
To tremble (as the creature of an hour
Ought at the view of an almighty power)
Before his prefence, at whofe awful throne
All tremble in all worlds, except your own,
To fupplicate his mercy, love his ways,

And prize them above pleasure, wealth, or praise,
Though common fenfe allow'd a cafting voice,
And, free from bias, must approve the choice,
Convicts a man fanatic in th' extreme,

And wild as madness in the world's esteem.

But that disease, when foberly defin'd,

Is the falfe fire of an o'erheated mind;