Inviolate and faithfully shall these

Make up the full account: not the leaft atom
Embezzled, or mislaid, of the whole tale;
Each foul fhall have a body ready finish'd,
And each fhall have his own. Hence, ye profane,
Ask not, how this can be? Sure the fame Pow'r
That rear'd the piece at first, and took it down,
Can reaffemble the loose scatter'd parts,
And put them as they were. Almighty God
Has done much more; nor is his arm impair'd
Thro' length of days, and what he CAN, he WILL:
His faithfulnefs ftands bound to fee it done.

When the dread trumpet founds, the flumb'ring duft,
Not inattentive to the call, fhall wake;
And ev'ry joint poffefs its proper place

With a new elegance of form, unknown

To its firft ftate. Nor fhall the confcious foul
Miftake its partner; but, amidst the crowd
Singling its other half, into its arms

Shall rush, with all th' impatience of a man

That's new come home,who,having long been abfent,
With hafte runs over ev'ry different room,

In pain to see the whole. Thrice happy meeting!
Nor time, nor death, fhall ever part them more.
'Tis but a night, a long and moonless night,
We make the grave our bed, and then are gone,
Thus, at the shut of eve, the weary bird

Leaves the wide air, and in some lonely brake
Cow'rs down, and dozes till the dawn of day,

Then claps his well-fledg'd wings, and bears away.

ELEGY,

WRITTEN

IN A COUNTRY CHURCH YARD.

ELEGY,

WRITTEN

IN A COUNTRY CHURCH YARD.

BY MR. GRAY.

THE curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd winds flowly o'er the lea; The plowman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me.

Now fades the glimmering landscape on the fight,
And all the air a folemn stillness holds,
Save where the beetle wheels his drony flight,
And drowsy tinklings lull the diftant folds;