Where chosen | still sub- | sist ten thousand |

more?

Re-ject it, where | that | chosen all the

rest

Dispersed | leave | reason's | whole ho- | rizon | clear?

This is not reason's | dictate, || reason | says Choose with the side where one grain | turns the scale;

What vast pre- | ponderance is here:

can reason |

1|

With louder voice ex- | claim | Be- | lieve a | God? 1771

And reason | heard | is the | sole | mark of |

man. 1771

What things im- | possible | must | man | think |

To disbelieve through | mere cre- | dulity!" 1771791 Į

If in this | chain | Lo- | renzo | finds | no

| flaw,

Let it for ever | bind him

And where the link
1

finds? | 111

to be- | lief. 11

|

in which a | flaw he |

And if a God there | is, that | God | how

THE GRAVE.

Montgomery.

There is a calm for those who weep, 1111 | |

A rest
They softly | lie,

for | weary | pilgrims | found, |
| and | sweetly | sleep,||
ground.

Low in the

The storm that

No more disturbs

wrecks the wintery | sky || their deep re- | pose,

Than summer evening's | latest | sigh

That shuts the rose.

1I long to lay this

painful | head |

And aching heart

beneath the soil,||

To slumber in that | dreamless | bed ||

From all my toil.

Nor leave one | wretched trace be- | hind, 1

Re-sembling me.1|

Hark! a strange sound af frights mine

ear ; ។ | − ។ |

My pulse, my

brain | runs ¦ wild, |I|rave;|

Ah! who art | thou whose | voice I | hear?"
I am the Grave!

Art thou a | wretch,
The victim

of | hope | for- | lorn,

of con- | suming | care? 1111

Is thy distracted | conscience | torn |

Do | foul mis- | deeds

|

of former | times
Wring with re-morse thy guilty breast? |
And ghosts of unfor- | given | crimes |
Murder thy

Lash'd by the furies

rest? 1411

of the | mind,|

| |

From wrath and vengeance would'st thou | |

flee? 11111

Ah! think not, hope not, | fool,

to find

A friend in me. 1111111

By all the terrors of the tomb,

Beyond the power of | tongue

to tell

By the dread | secrets of my | womb |

And in thy chastening sorrows | see

The hand of God. I

|| kiss the | rod, |

A bruised reed
Afflictions all his

He wounds them

he will not break;1 children | feel, 1111

for his mercy's | sake,

He wounds to heal! 1991.

Humbled beneath his | mighty | hand, |
Prostrate his | Providence a- | dore: |

1 1

'Tis done!a- rise! | He | bids thee |

To realms of ever- | lasting | light | 이

Through time's | dark | wilderness

There is

A rest

of years,

Pursue thy | flight. 111.1991

a | calm for | those who weep, for weary | pilgrims | found: | And while the mouldering | ashes | sleep 1 Low in the ground; |

The soul (of | origin | di- | vine | God's glorious image,) || freed from | clay || e-ternal sphere shall shine A star of | day! 191 |

In heaven's

The sun is but a | spark of | fire, 1|111|

A transient meteor

។

in the | sky, 1|11|

The soul im- | mortal | as its | sire |

THE POPLAR FIELD.

Cowper.

The poplars are | fell'd, | | farewell to the shade,

And the whispering sound of the cool | colo- | nade;

The winds | play no longer | and | sing in the leaves,

on his bosom their image 1

Nor | Ouse
receives. 19/191.

Of my favorite | field, and the bank where they grew; 11

And now in the grass be- | hold they are | laid,

And the tree is my | seat, that once

lent me a shade 111111

The Blackbird

treat,

has | fled to an- | other re- |

Where the | hazels | af- ford him a | screen from

the heat,

And the scene where his | melody charm'd me

before,

Re-sounds

with his sweet | flowing | ditty |

។ no | more. ។ | ៕៕៕៕

My | fugitive years

are all | hasting a- | way, 1|17|

And I must ere | long. lie as | lowly as ❘ they,|