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If scorn of God's commands, impressed

On word and deed, imply

The better part of man, unblessed
With life that cannot die;

Such want it, and that want uncured
Till man resigns his breath,
Speaks him a criminal, assured
Of everlasting death.

Sad period to a pleasant course!
Yet so will God repay

Sabbaths profaned without remorse,
And mercy cast away.






PAUSE here, and think: a monitory rhime
Demands one moment of thy fleeting time.
Consult life's silent clock, thy bounding vein;
Seems it to say-" Health here has long to reign?"
Hast thou the vigour of thy youth? an eye
That beams delight? an heart untaught to sigh?
Yet fear. Youth, ofttimes healthful and at ease,
Anticipates a day it never sees;

And many a tomb, like HAMILTON's, aloud
Exclaims, "Prepare thee for an early shroud."

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HERE lies, whom hound did ne'er pursue,
Nor swifter greyhound follow,
Whose foot ne'er tainted morning dew,
Nor e'er heard huntsman's hallo',

Old Tiney, surliest of his kind,
Who, nursed with tender care,
And to domestic bounds confined,
Was still a wild Jack-hare.

Though duly from my hand he took

His pittance every night,

He did it with a jealous look

And, when he could, would bite.

His diet was of wheaten bread

And milk, and oats, and straw;

Thistles, or lettuces instead,
With sand to scour his maw.

On twigs of hawthorn he regaled,
On pippins' russet peel,
And, when his juicy salads failed,

Sliced carrot pleased him well.

A Turkey carpet was his lawn,
Whereon he loved to bound,
To skip and gamble like a fawn,
And swing his rump around.

His frisking was at evening hours,
For then he lost his fear,

But most before approaching showers,
Or when a storm drew near.

Eight years and five round-rolling moons

He thus saw steal away, Dozing out all his idle noons, And every night at play.

I kept him for his humour sake,
For he would oft beguile

My heart of thoughts that made it ache;
And force me to a smile.

But now beneath his walnut shade
He finds his long last home,
And waits, in snug concealment laid,
Till gentler Puss shall come.

He still more aged feels the shocks,
From which no care can save,
And, partner once of Tiney's box,
Must soon partake his grave.

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