Whose sweet infufions could of old inspire
The breathing organs, and the trembling lyre.
Father of these on earth, whose gentle soul,
By fuch engagements, could the mind control,
If holy verfes aught to music owe,

Be that thy large account of thanks below:
Whilft, then, the timbrels lively pleasure gave,
And, now, whilst organs found fedately grave.
My first attempt the finish'd courfe commends,
Now, Fancy, flag not, as that fubject ends,
But, charm'd with beauties which attend thy way,
Afcend harmonious in the next eйay.

So flies the lark, and learn from her to fly;
She mounts, she warbles on the wind on high,
She falls from thence, and feems to drop her wing,
But, ere she lights to rest, remounts to fing.

It is not far the days have roll'd their years
Before the second brighten'd work appears,
It is not far, alas! the faulty cause,

Which, from the Prophet, fad reflection draws;
Alas! that bleffings in poffeffion cloy,
And peevish murmurs are prefer'd to joy;
That favour'd Ifrael could be faithlefs ftill,
Or question God's protecting power or will,
Or dread devoted Canaan's warlike men,
And long for Egypt and their bonds again.
Scarce thrice the Sun fince harden'd Pharaoh dy'd,
As bridegrooms iffue forth with glittering pride,
Rejoicing rose, and let the nation see

Three fhining days of easy liberty,

Ere the mean fears of want, produc'd within,
Vain thought, replenish'd, with rebellious fin.
Oh look not, Ifrael, to thy former way;
God cannot fail; and either wait or pray.
Within the borders of thy promis'd lands,
Lot's hapless wife a ftrange example stands,
She turn'd her eyes, and felt her change begin,
And wrath as fierce may meet resembling sin.
Then forward move thy camp, and forward still,
And let fweet mercy bend thy ftubborn will.

At thy complaint, a branch in Marah caft,
With sweetening virtue mends the water's taste.
At thy complaint, the labouring tempeft fails,
And drives before a wondrous fhower of quails.
In tender grafs the falling manna lies,

And Heaven itself the want of bread supplies.
The rock divided, flows upon the plain:
At thy complaint, and ftill thou wilt complain.
As, thus employ'd, thou went the Defart through,
Lo! Sinai mount upreard its head to view.
Thine eyes perceiv'd the darkly-rolling cloud,
Thine ears the trumpet thrill, the thunder loud,
The forky lightning fhot in livid gleam,

The fmoak arofe, the mountain all a flame

Quak'd to the Depths, and work'd with signs of awę,
While God defcended to dispense the law.
Yet neither mercy, manifeft in might,
Nor power in terrors could preferve thee right.
Provok'd with crimes of fuch an heinous kind

Almighty juftice fware the doom defign'd.

That

That they should never reach the promis'd feat,
And Mofes greatly mourns their haften'd fate.
I'll think him now retir'd to public care,
While night in pitchy plumes flides soft in air,
I'll think him giving what the guilty fleep,
To thoughts where forrow glides, and numbers weep
Sad thoughts of woes that reign where fuch prevail,
And man's short life, though not so short as frail.
Within this circle for his inward eyes,

He bids the fading low creation rife,
And strait the train of mimic fenfes brings
The dusky fhapes of tranfitory things,

Through penfive shades, the visions feem to range,
They feem to flourish, and they seem to change;
A moon decreasing runs the filent sky,
And fickly birds on moulting feathers fly;
Men walking count their days of bleffing o'er,
The bleffings vanish, and the tale 's no more,
Still hours of nightly watches steal away,
Big waters roll, green blades of grafs decay,
Then all the pensive shades, by just degrees,
Grow faint in prospect, and go off with these
But while th' affecting notions pafs along,
He chufes fuch as beft adorn his fong;
And thus with God the rifing lays began,
God ever reigning, God compar'd with man:
And thus they move to man beneath his rod,
Man deeply finning, man chastis'd by God.
Oh Lord! Oh Saviour! though thy chofen band
Have ftay'd like ftrangers, in a foreign land,

I 2

Through

Through number'd ages, which have run their race,
Still has thy mercy been our dwelling-place,
Before the most exalted duft of earth,

The stately mountains had receiv'd a birth,
Before the pillars of the world were laid,

Before the habitable parts were made;

Thou wert their God, from thee their rise they drew, Thou great for ages, great for ever too.

Man (mortal creature) fram'd to feel decays, Thine unrefifted power at pleasure sways; Thou fay'ft return, and parting fouls obey, Thou fay'ft return, and bodies fall to clay. For what's a thousand fleeting years with thee? Or time, compar'd with long eternity, Whofe wings expanding infinitely vaft O'erftretch its utmost ends of first and last; 'Tis like thofe hours that lately faw the fun; He rofe, and fet, and all the day was done. Or like the watches which dread night divide, And while we flumber unregarded glide, When all the prefent feems a thing of nought, And past and future close to waking thought. As raging floods, when rivers fwell with rain, Bear down the groves, and overflow the plain, So fwift and strong thy wondrous might appears, So life is carried down the rolling years. As heavy fleep purfues the day's retreat, With dark, with filent, and unactive state, So life's attended-on by certain doom, And death's their reft; their refting-place, a tomb.

It quickly rifes, and it quickly goes,

And youth its morning, age its evening fhews.
Thus tender blades of grass, when beams diffuse,
Rife from the preffure of their early dews.
Point tow'rds the skies, their elevated fpires,
And proudly flourish, in their green attires,
But foon (ah fading state of things below!)
The scythe destructive mows the lovely shew,
The rifing fun thus faw their glories high;
That fun defcended, fees their glories die..

We ftill with more than common haste of fate
Are doom'd to perish, in thy kindled hate.
Our public fins for public justice call,

And stand like marks, on which thy judgments fall;
Our fecret fins, that folly thought conceal'd,
Are in thy light for punishment reveal'd.
Beneath the terrors of thy wrath divine
Our days unmix'd with happiness decline,
Like empty ftories, tedious, fhort, and vain,
And never, never more recall'd again..
Yet what were life, if to the longest date,
Which we have nam'd a life, we backen'd. fate,
Alas, its moft computed length appears,
To reach the limits but of feventy years,
And if by ftrength to fourfcore years we go,
That ftrength is labour, and that labour woe.
Then will thy term expire, and thou must fly,
Oh man! oh creature furely born to die!
But who regards a truth so throughly known?.
Who dreads a wrath so manifeftly shewn ?.