Lo, the Norwegians near the polar sky The vital flame touch'd with a strange supply He bids the vital flood in wonted circles flow. Drinks the meridian fury of the midnight Bear, Enquire, my foul, of ancient fame, Look back two thousand years, and fee Once to his court the God of Ifrael came, I fee the furnace blaze with rage Three Hebrews of immortal name: They move, they walk across the burning stage It knew the Lord of nature there. Nature, compell'd by a fuperior cause, How broad thy kingdom, how divine! Nature, and miracle, and fate, and chance, are thine. Hence Hence from my heart, ye idols, flee, To chance and nature, tales and lies : CONDESCENDING GRACE. In Imitation of the cxivth Pfalm. WHEN the Eternal bows the skies, To visit earthly things, With fcorn divine he turns his eyes From towers of haughty kings; Rides on a cloud disdainful by. Laughs at the worms that rife fo high, He bids his awful chariot roll To vifit every humble foul, Why fhould the Lord that reigns above Say, Lord, and why fuch looks of love Upon fuch worthless things? Mortals, be dumb; what creature dares Dispute his awful will ? Afk no account of his affairs, Just like his nature is his grace, Great God, how fearchlefs are thy ways! THE INFINIT E. OME feraph, lend your heavenly tongue, That I may raife a lofty song Thy names, how infinite they be! Thy glories fhine of wondrous fize, Thine effence is a vast abyss, Which angels cannot found, An ocean of infinities Where all our thoughts are drown'd. The The mysteries of creation lie Beneath enlighten'd minds, Thoughts can afcend above the sky, And fly before the winds. Reafon may grafp the maffy hills, In vain our haughty reason fwells, CONFESSION AND PARDON. ALAS, my aking heart! Here the keen torment lies; It racks my waking hours with smart, Guilt will be hid no more, The crimes that blot my confcience o'er My forrows, like a flood, Pour out a long complaint. This impious heart of mine Could once defy the Lord, Could rush with violence on to fin, In prefence of thy fword. How often have I ftood A rebel to the skies, The calls, the tenders of a God, He offers all his grace, And all his heaven to me; Offers! but 'tis to fenfelefs brass, That cannot feel nor fee. Jefus the Saviour stands To court me from above, And looks and spreads his wounded hands, But I, a ftupid fool, How long have I withstood The bleffings purchas'd with his foul, And paid for all in blood! The heavenly Dove came down Lord, I'm afham'd to fay To his own realms of love. Not |