wherewith God doth not fill the Hearts and Mouths of his Children, in the Meditation of these sacred Poems and sweet Songs of Ifrael, which, by the Efficacy of the Holy Spirit accompanying the Musick and Expressions of them, excite in their Souls holy Sallies and Flights from these Houses of Clay, to the blissful Regions of inexpressible and immutable Glory.

A Contemplative Poem on the wonderful Works of God.

Y

E Woods and Fields, receive me to your
Shade;
These calm Retreats my Contemplation aid :
From Mortals flying to your chatte Abode,
Let me attend th' instructive Voice of God.
He speaks in all, and is in all things found;
I hear him, I perceive him all around.
In Nature's lovely and unblemish'd Face,
With Joy thy facred Lineaments I trace;
O glorious Being! O fupremely fair!
How free, how perfect thy Productions are!
Forgive me, while with curious Eyes I view
Thy Works, and thus thy facred Steps purfsue:
The filent Valley, and the lonely Grove
I haunt; but. Oh! 'tis thee I feek and love.
'Tis not the Chant of Birds, nor whisp'ring Breeze,.
But thy foft Voice I seek among the Trees:
Invoking thee, by filver Streams I walk;
To thee in folitary Shades I talk:

I speak thy dear-lov'd Name, nor speak in vain,
Kind Ecchoes long the pleasing Sound-retain,
Reviving Sweets the op'ning Flow'rs discloso,
Fragrant the Violet, the budding Rose;
But all their balmy Sweets from thee they steal,
And fomething of thee to my Sense reveal.

G5

Fair

Fair look the Stars, and fair the Morning Ray,
When first the Fields their painted Scenes display
Glorious the Sun, in his Meridian Height,
And yet, compar'd to thee, how faint the Light!
Ador'd Artificer, what Skill divine,
What Wonders in the wide Creation shine!
Order and Majesty adorn the whole,
Beauty and Life, and thou the inspiring Soul !
Whatever Grace or Harmony's exprefs'd
In all thy Works, our God is there confess'd.
But, Oh! from all thy Works, how small a Part
Is known to human Minds of what thou art!
Fancy gives o'er its Flight, in Search of thee,
Our Thoughts are lost, in thy Immensity..
What Path is found to these sublime Retreats,
Where Pleasure banquets in its lovely Seats;
Where Beauty triumphs in her native Bow'r,
Uncopy'd yer by the creating Pow'r?
Ten thousand various Forms divinely fair,
Sparkle in their fupream Ideas there;
While Wisdom with superior Order shines
In boundless Schemes, and infinite Designs.
Wondrous the Prospect, clear and unconfin'd,
But open only to th' Eternal Mind..
What tow'ring Intellect, with daring Flight,
Has made Excursion thro' the Realms of Light
The blest Receffes, where th' approachless God,
From all Duration made his high Abode.
Who'er has mark'd, with bold enquiring Eyes,
From whence the secret Springs of Life arife?
How from their deep exhauftless Source they flow.
To actuate Heav'n, and chear the World below ?
Those dazling Habitations who has found,
Where Love in all its heav'nly Charms fits crown'd
Great Love, th' Almighty Father's first Delight,
His Image, and the Darling of his Sight,
The full Resemblance of the Deity,
Whe all his glorious Image stampt on thee.

i

"Twas thou who didit his boundless Thoughts em

ploy,

His fole Complacence, and peculiar Joy,
From Ages unbegun; but who can tell
Thy Generation, or thy Birth reveal?

What Thought can measure back the long Extent
Of nameless Times, or speak thy great Descent?
Before the Hills appear'd, or Fountains flow'd,
Or golden Flames in the blue Æther glow'd;
Before the vaft Creation had a Name,
Thou watt in Bliss and Dignity the fame.
By thee the Sun, by thee the Stars were made,
The spacious Skies at thy Command were spread;
The Heav'n of Heav'ns, th' Empyrean Coasts
Were form'd by thee, with all their num'rous

Hofts;
Angels, Arch-Angels, Thrones, Dominions, Pow'rs,
Who sing thy Conquest in th' almighty Bow'rs;
For thou dost ev'ry heav'nly Breast enflame,
To speak loud Praises to thy sacred Name;
Their Beings and their Bliss they owe to thee,
Thou equal Offspring of the Deity:
His perfect Image thou dost justly prove; baj
For all the bright Divinity is Love.

A Letter from a Duke to bis Friend supposed to be dictated while he lay on bis Death-Bed.

B EFORE you receive this, my final State will be determin'd by the Judge of all the Earth: In a few Days at most, perhaps, in a few Hours, the inevitable Sentence will be past, that shall raise me to the Height of Happiness, or fink me to the Depth of Misery. While you read these Lines, I shall be either groaning under the Agonios Agonies of absolute Despair, or triumphing in Falness of Joy.

It is impossible for me to express the present Disposition of my Soul, the vast Uncertainty I am struggling with; no Tongue can express, or utter the Anguish of a Soul suspended between the Extreams of infinite Joy and eternal Misery. I am throwing my last Stake for Eternity, and tremble, and shudder, for the important Event. Good God! how have I employ'd my self? What Enchantment has held me? In what Vanity have my Days been paft? What have I been doing, while the Sun in its Race, and the Stars in their Courses, have lent their Beams, perhaps, to light me to Perdition?I never wak'd till now:-I have just commenced the Dignity of a rational Being: -Till this Inftant, I had a wrong Apprehension of every thing in Nature:-I have pursued Shadows, and entertain'd my felf with Dreams:-I have been treafuring up Dust, and sporting my felf with the Wind:-I look on my past Life, and, but for fome Memorials of Infamy and Guilt, it's all a Blank, a perfect Vacancy-I might have graz'd with the Beasts of the Field, or fung with the winged Inhabitants of the Wood, to much better Purpose: I have lived but-Oh! but for fome faint Hope, a thousand Times more blest had I been, to have slept with the Clods of the Valley, and never heard the Almighty's Fiat, nor awak'd into Life at his Command. I never had a just Apprehenfion of the Solemnity of the Part I am to act till now. I have often met Death insulting on the hoftile Plain; with Courage as brutal as that of the warlike Horse, I have rushed into the Battle, laugh'd at the glittering Spear, and rejoic'd at the Sound of the Trumpet, nor had a Thought of any State beyond the Grave, nor of the great Tribunal, to which I might have been fummoned,

Where

Where all my fecret Guilt had been reveal'd, Nor the minutest Circumstance conceal'd.

'Tis this which arms Death with all his Terrors, else I could still mock at Fear, and smile in the Face of the gloomy Monarch. 'Tis not giving up my Breath; 'tis not being for ever insensible, is the Cause for which I shrink; no, but it is the terrible Hereafter, the something beyond the Grave, at which I recoil. These great Realities, which in the Hours of Mirth and Vanity I have treated as Phantoms, as idle Dreams-these start forth, and dare me in their most terrible Demonstrations. My awakened Conscience feels something of that eternal Vengeance I have so often defy'd. To what height of Madness is it possible for Human Nature to reach! What Extravagance is it to jeft with Death! to laugh at Damnation! to sport with eternal Chains, and recreate a jovial Fancy with the Scenes of infernal Misery! Were there no Impiety in this kind of Mirth, it would be as ill-bred, as to entertain a dying Friend with the Sight of an Harlequin, or the Rehearsal of a Farce. Every thing in Nature seems to reproach this Levity in human Creatures; the whole Creation, but Man, is serious; Man, who has the highest Reason to be so, on account of his short and uncertain Duration. A condemned Wretch may, with as good a Grace, go dancing to his Execution, as the greatest Part of Mankind go on with such a thoughtless Gaiety to their Graves.

O my dear Philario! with what Horror do I recal those Hours of Vanity we have wasted together!-Return ye loft neglected Moments, now should I prize you above the Eastern Treasures !Let me converse in Cottages, may I but once more stand a Candidate for an immortal Crown,

and have my Probation for celestial Happiness.

Ye