Yet not to earth's contracted span

Thy goodness let me bound, Or think thee Lord alone of man,

When thousand worlds are round:

Let not this weak, unknowing hand

Presume thy bolts to throw, And deal damnation round the land,

On each I judge thy foe.

If I am right, thy grace impart,

Still in the right to stay : If I am wrong, oh teach

my

heart To find that better way:

Save me alike from foolish pride,

Or impious discontent,
At aught thy wisdom has deny'd,

Or aught thy goodness lent.

Teach me to feel another's woe,

To hide the fault I see;
That
mercy

I to others show,
That mercy

fhow to me.

Mean tho' I am, not wholly fo,

Since quick’ned by thy breath; O lead me wherefoe'er I go,

Thro' this day's life or death.

This day, be bread and peace my lot :

All else beneath the sun,
Thou know'st if best bestow'd or not,

And let thy will be done.

To thee, whose temple is all space,

Whose altar, earth, fea, fkies! One chorus let all being raise !

All nature's incense rise !

NIGHT

NIGHT THOUGHTS, by Dr. Young.

NIGHT FIR S T.

T

:

VIR’D nature's fweet restorer, balmy sleep!

He, like the world, his ready visit pays
Where fortune smiles; the wretched he forsakes :
Swift on his downy pinions Alies from woe,
And lights on lids unsully'd with a tear.

From short (as usual) and disturb'd repose,
I wake : how happy they, who wake no more !
The day too short for my distress! and night,
Ev'n in the zenith of her dark domain,
Is fun-line, to the colour of my fate.
Night, fable goddess! from her ebon throne,
In rayless majesty, now stretches forth
Her leaden fceptre o'er a flumb'ring world.
Silence, how dead! and darkness, how profound !
Nor eye, nor liftning ear, an object finds;
Creation sleeps. 'Tis, as the gen’ral pulse
Of life stood ftill, and nature made a pause ;
An awful pause! prophetic of her end.
And let her prophecy be foon fulfill'd;
Fate! drop the curtain ; I can lose no more.
O Thou ! whose word from folid darkness ftruck
That spark the fun; strike wisdom from my soul ;
My soul, which flies to thee, her trust, her treasure,
As mifers to their gold, while others reft.

Thro'

1

Thro’ this opaque of nature, and of soul,
This double night, transmit one pitying ray,
To lighten, and to chear. O lead my mind,
(A mind that fain would wander from its woe)
Lead it thro' yaiious scenes of life, and death,
And from each scene the noblest truths inspire.
Nor less inspire my conduct, than my song ;
Teach my best reason, reason ; my best will
Teach rectitude ; and fix my firm resolve
Wisdom to wed, and pay her long arrear:
Nor let the phial of thy vengeance, pour'd
On this devoted head, be pour'd in vain.
The beli strikes one. We take no note of time,
Bat from its loss. To give it then a tongue,
Is wife in man. As if an angel spoke,
I feel the folemn found. If heard aright,
It is the knell of my departed hours :
Where are they? With the years beyond the flood.
It is the signal that demands dispatch ;
How much is to be done? my hopes and fears
Start

up

alarm’d, and o'er life's narrow verge
Look down-on what? a fathomless abyss ;
A dread eternity! how surely mine!
And can eternity belong to me,
Poor pensioner on the bounties of an hour?
How poor, how rich, how abject, how august,
How complicate, how wonderful, is man!
How palling wonder He, who made him fuch!

Who

a

Who centred in our make such strange extremes !
From diff'rent natures marvelously mixt,
Connection exquisite of diftant worlds !
Distinguish'd link in Being's endless chain !
Midway from nothing to the Deity!.
A beam ethereal fully'd, and absorpt';
Tho' sully'd, and dishonour'd; still divine !
Dim miniature of greatness absolute !
An heir of glory! a frail child of duft!.
Helplefs immortal! infect infinite !
A worm ! a god! I tremble at myself.
Our waking dreams are fatal. How I dreamt
Of joys perpetual in perpetual change !
Of ftable pleasures on the toffing wave!
Eternal sunshine in the storms of life!
How richly were my noon-tide trances hung
With gorgeous tapestries of pictur'd joys !
Joy behind joy, in endless perspective !
Till at death's toll, whose restless iron tongue
Calls daily for his millions at a meal,
Starting I woke, and found myself undone.
Where now my phrenfy's pompous furniture ?
The cobweb'd cottage, with its ragged wall
Of mould'ring mud, is royalty to me!
The spider's most attenuated thread
Is cord, is cable, to man's tender tie
On earthly bliss ; it breaks at ev'ry breeze.
Oye blest scenes of permanent delight !

Full,