Not all thine heavenly charms,

Nor terrors of thy hand,

Could force me to lay down my arms,

And bow to thy command.

Lord, 'tis against thy face

My fins like arrows rife,

And yet, and yet (O matchlefs grace!)
Thy thunder filent lies.

O fhall I never feel

The meltings of thy love?
Am I fuch hell-harden'd fteel
That mercy cannot move?
Now for one powerful glance,
Dear Saviour, from thy face!
This rebel-heart no more withstands,
But finks beneath thy grace.

O'ercome by dying love I fall,
Here at thy cross I lie;

And throw my flesh, my foul, my all,
And weep, and love, and die.

"Rife, fays the Prince of Mercy, rife,
"With joy and pity in his eyes:
"Rife, and behold my wounded veins,
"Here flows the blood to wash thy ftains.

"See my Great Father reconcil'd:"
He faid. And lo, the Father fmil'd:
The joyful cherubs clap'd their wings,
And founded grace on all their strings.

Young

Young Men and Maidens, Old Men and Babes, praise ye the LORD, Pfal. cxlviii. 12.

ONS of Adam, bold and young,

SONS

In the wild mazes of whofe veins

A flood of fiery vigour reigns,

And weilds your active limbs, with hardy sinews ftrung; Fall proftrate at th' eternal throne

Whence your precarious powers depend; Nor fwell as if your lives were all your own, But choose your Maker for your friend;

His favour is your life, his arm is your fupport,

His hand can stretch your days, or cut your minutes short.

Virgins, who roll your artful eyes,
And shoot delicious danger thence;
Swift the lovely lightning flies,

And melts our reafon down to fenfe;
Boaft not of thofe withering charms
That must yield their youthful grace
Το age and wrinkles, earth and worms;
But love the Author of your fmiling face;

That heavenly bridegroom claims your blooming hours:

O make it your perpetual care

To please that Everlafting Fair;

His beauties are the fun, and but the fhade is yours.

Infants, whofe different deftinies

Are wove with threads of different size;

But

But from the fame spring-tide of tears,
Commence your hopes, and joys, and fears,

(A tedious train!) and date your following years:
Break your first filence in his praise

Who wrought your wondrous frame:
With founds of tendereft accent raise
Young honours to his name;
And confecrate your early days
To know the Power fupreme.

Ye heads of venerable age,

Juft marching off the mortal stage,
Fathers, whofe vital threads are spun

As long as e'er the glass of life would run,
Adore the hand that led your way

Through flowery fields a fair long fummer's day;
Gafp out your foul in praises to the fovereign power
That fet your West so distant from your dawning hour.

Flying Fowl, and Creeping Things, praise ye the LORD, Pfal. cxlviiii. 10,

Sw

WEET flocks, whofe foft enamel'd wing
Swift and gently cleaves the sky;

Whofe charming notes address the spring

With an artless harmony.

Lovely minstrels of the field,

Who in leafy fhadows fit,

And your wondrous ftructures build,

Awake

your tuneful voices with the dawning light:

То

To nature's God your first devotions pay,

Ere

you falute the rising day,

'Tis he calls up the fun, and gives him every ray.

Serpents, who o'er the meadows flide,
And wear upon your fhining back
Numerous ranks of gaudy pride,
Which thousand mingling colours make;
Let the fierce glances of your eyes
Rebate their baleful fire:

In harmless play twist and unfold
The volumes of your scaly gold:
That rich embroidery of your gay attire,
Proclaims your Maker kind and wife.

1

Infects and mites, of mean degree,
That fwarm in myriads o'er the land,
Moulded by Wisdom's artful hand,
And curl'd and painted with a various die ;
In your innumerable forms

Praife him that wears th' etherial crown,
And bend his lofty counfels down

To defpicable worms.

The COMPARISON and COMPLAINT.

NFINITE Power, Eternal Lord,

IN

How sovereign is thy hand!

All nature rofe t' obey thy word,
And moves at thy command.

With fteady course thy fhining fun

Keeps his appointed way;

And all the hours obedient run
The circle of the day.

But ah! how wide my spirit flies,
And wanders from her God!
My foul forgets the heavenly prize,
And treads the downward-road.

The raging fire, and ftormy fea,
Perform thine awful will,

And every beast and every tree,
Thy great designs fulfil :

While my

wild paffions rage within,

Nor thy commands obey;

And flesh and fenfe, enflav'd to fin,
Draw my beft thoughts away.

Shall creatures of a meaner frame
Pay all their dues to thee;
Creatures, that never knew thy name,
That never lov'd like me?

Great God, create my foul anew,

Conform my heart to thine,
Melt down my will, and let it flow,
And take the mould divine.

Seize my whole frame into thy hand ;
Here all my powers I bring;
Manage the wheels by thy command,
And govern every spring.

Then