Friends to temperance and peace,
Have not these a righteousness?
Banish every vain pretence
Built on human excellence;
Perish every thing in man,
But the grace that never can.
LXV. PRAISE FOR FAITH.
Of all the gifts thine hand bestows,
Thou Giver of all good!
Not heaven itself a richer knows
Than my Redeemer's blood.
Faith too, the blood-receiving grace,
From the same hand we gain!
Else, sweetly as it suits our case,
That gift had been in vain.
Till thou thy teaching power apply,
Our hearts refuse to see,
And weak, as a distemper'd eye,
Shut out the view of thee.
Blind to the merits of thy Son,
What misery we endure!
Yet fly that hand from which alone
We could expect a cure.
We praise thee, and would praise thee more,
To thee our all we owe;
The precious Saviour, and the power
That makes him precious too.
LXVI. GRACE AND PROVIDENCE.
ALMIGHTY King! whose wondrous hand
Supports the weight of sea and land;
Whose grace is such a boundless store,
No heart shall break that sighs for more;
Thy providence supplies my food,
And 'tis thy blessing makes it good;
My soul is nourish'd by thy word,
Let soul and body praise the Lord!
My streams of outward comfort came
From him who built this earthly frame
Whate'er I want his bounty gives,
By whom my soul for ever lives.
Either his hand preserves from pain,
Or, if I feel it, heals again;
From Satan's malice shields my breast,
Or overrules it for the best.
Forgive the song that falls so low
Beneath the gratitude I owe !
It means thy praise, however poor,
An angel's song can do no more.
LXVII. I WILL PRAISE THE LORD AT ALL TIMES.
WINTER has a joy for me,
While the Saviour's charms I read,
Lowly, meek, from blemish free,
In the snowdrop's pensive head.
Spring returns, and brings along
Life-invigorating suns:
Hark! the turtle's plaintive song
Seems to speak his dying groans!
Summer has a thousand charms,
All expressive of his worth;
'Tis his sun that lights and warms,
His the air that cools the earth.
What! has autumn left to say
Nothing of a Saviour's grace?
Yes, the beams of milder day
Tell me of his smiling face.
Light appears with early dawn,
While the sun makes haste to rise;
See his bleeding beauties drawn
On the blushes of the skies.
Evening with a silent pace,
Slowly moving in the west,
Shows an emblem of his grace,
Points to an eternal rest.
LXVIII. FRAGMENT OF A HYMN.
LONGING TO BE WITH CHRIST.
To Jesus, the Crown of my Hope,
My soul is in haste to be gone:
O bear me, ye cherubim, up,
And waft me away to his throne !
My Saviour, whom absent I love,
Whom not having seen I adore;
Whose name is exalted above
All glory, dominion, and power.
LATIN POEMS,
WITH TRANSLATIONS.
ON THE LOSS OF THE ROYAL GEORGE.
(TO THE MARCH IN SCIPIO.)
WRITTEN WHEN THE NEWS ARRIVED.
TOLL for the brave!
The brave that are no more!
All sunk beneath the wave,
Fast by their native shore !
Eight hundred of the brave,
Whose courage well was tried,
Had made the vessel heel,
And laid her on her side;
A land breeze shook the shrouds,
And she was overset ;
Down went the Royal George,
With all her crew complete.
Toll for the brave!
Brave Kempenfelt is gone;
His last sea-fight is fought;
His work of glory done.
It was not in the battle;
No tempest gave the shock;
She sprang no fatal leak;
She ran upon no rock :
His sword was in its sheath;
His fingers held the pen,
When Kempenfelt went down,
With twice four hundred men.
Weigh the vessel up,
Once dreaded by our foes! And mingle with our cup
The tear that England owes.
Her timbers yet are sound,
And she may float again,
Full-charged with England's thunder,
And plough the distant main.
But Kempenfelt is gone;
His victories are o'er;
And he and his eight hundred
Shall plough the wave no more.
IN SUBMERSIONEM NAVIGII, CUI GEORGIUS
REGALE NOMEN INDITUM.
Patrium propter periêre littus
Bis quatèr centum; subitò sub alto
Æquore mersi.
Navis, innitens lateri, jacebat,
Malus ad summas trepidabat undas,
Cum levis, funes quatiens, ad imum
Depulit aura.
Plangimus fortes. Nimis, heu, caducam
Fortibus vitam voluêre Parcæ,
Nec sinunt ultra tibi nos recentes
Nectere laurus.
Magne, qui nomen, licet incanorum,
Traditum ex multis atavis tulisti!
At tuos olim memorabit ævum
Omne triumphos.
Non hyems illos furibunda mersit,
Non mari in clauso scopuli latentes,
Fissa non rimis abies, nec atrox
Abstulit ensis.
Navitæ sed tum nimium jocosi
Voce fallebant hilari laborem,
Et quiescebat, calamoque dextram im-
pleverat heros.
Vos, quibus cordi est grave opus piumque,
Humidum ex alto spolium levate,
Et putrescentes sub aquis amicos
Reddite amicis!
Hi quidem (sic Dîs placuit) fuêre:
Sed ratis, nondum putris, ire possit
Rursus in bellum, Britonumque nomen
Tollere ad astra.
THE LILY AND THE ROSE.
THE nymph must lose her female friend
If more admired than she,-
But where will fierce contention end
If flowers can disagree?
Within the garden's peaceful scene
Appear'd two lovely foes,
Aspiring to the rank of queen,
The Lily and the Rose.
The Rose soon redden'd into rage,
And swelling with disdain,
Appeal'd to many a poet's page
To prove her right to reign.
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