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If dear fociety be worth a thought,

And if the feaft of freedom cloy thee not,

Reflect that these, and all that feems thine own, Held by the tenure of his will alone,

Like angels in the fervice of their Lord,

Remain with thee, or leave thee at his word;
That gratitude and temp'rance in our use
Of what he gives, unfparing and profuse,
Secure the favour, and enhance the joy,
That thankless waste and wild abuse destroy.
But, above all, reflect-how cheap foe'er
Those rights that millions envy thee appear,
And, though refolv'd to rifk them, and fwim down
The tide of pleasure, heedless of his frown—
That bleffings truly facred, and when giv'n
Mark'd with the fignature and ftamp of heav'n,
The word of prophefy, those truths divine
Which make that heav'n if thou defire it thine,
(Awful alternative! believ'd, belov'd,
Thy glory; and thy fhame, if unimprov'd)
Are never long vouchfaf'd, if push'd aside
With cold difguft or philofophic pride;
And that, judicially withdrawn, disgrace,*
Error, and darkness, occupy their place.

A world is up in arms, and thou, a spot Not quickly found if negligently fought, Thy foul as ample as thy bounds are small, Endur'ft the brunt, and dar'ft defy them all : And wilt thou join to this bold enterprize A bolder ftill, a conteft with the skies? Remember, if he guard thee and fecure, Whoe'er affails thee, thy fuccess is fure; But, if he leave thee, though the skill and pow'r Of nations, fworn to spoil thee and devour, Were all collected in thy single arm,

And thou couldft laugh away the fear of harm, That ftrength would fail, oppos'd against the push And feeble onset of a pigmy rufh.

Say not (and, if the thought of such defence Should fpring within thy bofom, drive it thence) What nation amongst all my foes is free

From crimes as bafe as any charg'd on me?
Their measure fill'd, they too fhall pay the debt
Which God, though long forborn, will not forget.
But know that wrath divine, when most severe,
Makes juftice fill the guide of his career,
And will not punish, in one mingled crowd,
Them without light, and thee without a cloud.

Mufe, hang this harp upon yon aged beech,
Still murm'ring with the folemn truths I teach;
And, while, at intervals, a cold blast sings
Through the dry leaves, and pants upon the strings,
My foul fhall figh in fecret, and lament
A nation fcourg'd, yet tardy to repent.

I know the warning fong is fung in vain;
That few will hear, and fewer heed the ftrain:
But, if a sweeter voice, and one defign'd
A bleffing to my country and mankind,
Reclaim the wand'ring thousands, and bring home
A flock, fo fcatter'd and fo wont to roam,
Then place it once again between my knees;
The found of truth will then be fure to please:
And truth alone, where'er my life be caft,
In fcenes of plenty or the pining wafte,

Shall be my chofen theme, my glory to the last.

HOPE.

-doceas iter et facra oftia pandas. VIRG. En. 6.

ASK what is human life-the fage replies,
With disappointment low'ring in his eyes,
A painful paffage o'er a reftlefs flood,
A vain pursuit of fugitive false good,
A scene of fancied blifs and heart-felt care,
Clofing at laft in darkness and despair.
The poor, inur'd to drudg'ry and diftrefs,
A&t without aim, think little, and feel lefs,
And no where, but in feign'd Arcadian scenes,
Tafte happiness, or know what pleasure means.
Riches are pafs'd away from hand to hand,
As fortune, vice, or folly, may command.

As in a dance the pair that take the lead
Turn downward, and the lowest pair fucceed,
So fhifting and so various is the plan

By which Heav'n rules the mixt affairs of man:
Viciffitude wheels round the motley crowd,
The rich grow poor, the poor become purse-proud;
Bus'ness is labour, and, man's weakness such,
Pleasure is labour too, and tires as much,
The very fense of it foregoes its use,
By repetition pall'd, by age obtufe.
Youth loft in diffipation, we deplore,
Through life's fad remnant, what no fighs reftore;
Our years, a fruitless race without a prize,
Too many, yet too few to make us wife.
Dangling his cane about, and taking fnuff,
Lothario cries, What philofophic stuff—
Oh, querulous and weak!-whose useless brain
Once thought of nothing, and now thinks in vain;
Whose eye, reverted, weeps o'er all the pait,
Whose prospect shows thee a difheart'ning wafte;
Would age in thee refign his wintry reign,
And youth invigorate that frame again,
Renew'd defire would grace with other speech
Joys always priz'd-when plac'd within our reach.

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