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He turn'd my follies from his gracious eye,

As men who país accounts, and caft them by.

What mouth has death, which can thy praise proclaim?
What tongue the grave, to speak thy glorious name?
Or will the fenfelefs dead exult with mirth,

Mov'd to their hope by promifes on earth?
The living, Lord, the living only praife,
The living only fit to fing thy lays :

Thefe feel thy favours, thefe thy temple fee
Thefe raife the fong, as I this day to thee.
Nor will thy truth the prefent only reach,
This the good fathers fhall their offspring teach
Report the bleffings which adorn my page,
And hand their own, with mine, from age to age.

So, when the Maker heard his creature crave,
So kindly rofe his ready Will to fave,
Then march we folemn tow'rds the temple-door,
While all our joyful musick founds before;
There, on this day, through all my life appear,
When this comes round in each returning year;
There ftrike the ftrings, our voices jointly raife,
And let his dwellings hear my fongs of praife.

Thus wrote the monarch, and I'll think the lay
Defign'd for publick, when he went to pray;
I think the perfect compofition runs,
Perform'd by Heman's or Jeduthun's fons.

Then, fince the time arrives the Seer Foretold,
And the third morning rolls an orb of gold,
With thankful zeal, recover'd Prince, prepare
To lead thy nation to the dome of prayer.

My

My fancy takes her chariot once again,

Moves the rich wheels, and mingles in thy train;
She fees the fingers reach Moriah's hill,
The minstrels follow, then the porches fill;
She wakes the numerous inftruments of art,
That each perform its own adapted part;
Seeks airs expreffive of thy grateful ftrains,
And, liftening, hears the vary'd tune the feigns.
From a grave pitch, to speak the monarch's woe,
The notes flow down, and deeply found below;
All long-continuing, while deprived of eate
He rolls for tedious nights and heavy days.
Here intermix'd with difcord, when the crane
Screams in the notes, through fharper fenfe of pain;
There, run with descant on, and taught to shake,
When pangs repeated force the voice to break:
Now like the dove they murmur, till in fighs
They fall, and languish with the failing eyes:
Then flowly flackening, to furprize the more,
From a dead pause his exclamations foar,
To meet brifk health the notes afcending Ay,
Live with the living, and exult on high:
Yet ftill diftinct in parts the musick plays,
Till prince and people both are call'd to praise;
Then all, uniting, ftrongly ftrike the ftring,
Put forth their utmost breath, and loudly fing;
The wide-fpread chorus fills the facred ground,
And holy tranfport fcales the clouds with found.

Or thus, or livelier, if their hand and voice Join'd the good anthem, might, the realm rejoice.

This story known, the learn'd Chaldeans came,
Drawn by the sign obferv'd, or mov'd by fame;
Thele afk the fact for Hezekiah done,

And much they wonder at their God the fun,
That thrice he drove, through one extent of day,
His gold-fhod horfes in etherial way.

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Then vainly ground their guefs on nature's laws;
The foundest knowledge owns a greater caufe.

Faith knows the fact tranfcends, and bids me find What help for practice here incites, the mind: Strait to the fong, the thankful fong, I move.; May fuch the voice of every creature prove! If every creature meets its share of woe, And for kind refcues every, creature owe, In publick fo thy Maker's praife proclaim, Nor what you begged with tears, conceal with fhame. 'Tis there the ministry thy name.repeat, And tell what mercies were youchfaf'd of late; Then joins the church, and begs, through all our days, Not only with our lips, but lives, to praise. 'Tis there, our Sovereigns, for a fignal day The feaft proclaim'd, their signal thanks repay. O'er the long ftreets we fee the chariots wheel, And, following, think of Hezekiah still.

In the blefs'd dome we meet the white-rob'd choir,
In whofe fweet notes our ravish'd fouls afpire;
Side answering fide, we hear, and bear a part,
All warm'd with language from the grateful heart;
Or raise the fong, where meeting keys rejoice,

And teach the bafe to wed the treble voice;

Art's

Art's foftening echoes in the musick found,
And, answering nature's, from the roof rebound,
Here close my verfe, the fervice asks no more,
Blefs thy good God, and give the tranfport o'er.

HABAK KU K,

NOW leave the porch, to vision now retreat,
Where the next rapture glows with varying heat;
Now change the time, and change the temple-scene,
The following Seer forewarns a future reign.
To fome retirement, where the Prophets' fons
Indulge their holy flight, my fancy runs ;

Some facred college, built for praise and prayer,
And heavenly dream, fhe feeks Habakkuk there.
Perhaps 'tis there he moans the nation's fin,
Hears the word come, or feels the fit within-
Or fees the vifion, fram'd with angels' hands,
Ands dread the judgments of revolted lands;
Or holds a converse, if the Lord appear,
And, like Elijah, wraps his face for fear.
This deep recefs portends an act of weight,
A meflage labouring with the work of fate.

Methinks the skies have loft their lovely blue,
A ftorm rides fiery, thick the clouds enfue.
Fall'n to the ground, with proftrate face I lie :
Oh! 'twere the fame in this to gaze and die!
But hark the Prophet's voice; My prayers complain
Of labour spent, of preaching urg'd in vain.

And

And must, my God, thy forrowing fervant still
Quit my lone joys, to walk this world of ill ? -
Where spoiling rages, ftrife and wrong command,
And the flack'd laws no longer curb the land?

At this a ftrange and more than human found
Thus breaks the cloud, and daunts the trembling ground.
Behold, ye Gentiles; wondering all behold,
What scarce ye credit, though the work be told;
For, lo, the proud Chaldean troops I raise,

To march the breadth, and all the region feize;
Fierce as the prowling wolves, at close of day,
And swift as eagles in pursuit of prey.

As eaftern winds to blast the season blow,
For blood and rapine flies the dreadful foe;
Leads the fad captives, countless as the fand,
Derides the princes, and destroys the land.
Yet thefe, triumphant grown, offend me more,
And only thank the gods they chose before.

Art thou not holieft, here the prophet cries;
Supreme, Eternal, of the pureft eyes?
And shall those eyes the wicked realms regard,
Their crimes be great, yet victory their reward ?
Shall thefe ftill ravage more and more to reign,
Draw the full net, and cast to fill again?

As watch-men filent fit, I wait to fee

How folves my doubt, what speaks the Lord to me.
Then go, the Lord replies, fufpend thy fears,
And write the vifion for a term of years:
Thy foes will feel their turn when thofe are paft,
Wait, though it tarry; fure it comes at last.