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Olet us in thy kindness share,
Evils beset us ev'ry hour!
GOD THE ETERNAL SOVEREIGN.
This earthly globe, the creature of a day,
The fate of empires, and the pride of kings: Eternal night shall veil their proudest story, And drop the curtain o'er all human glory.
The sun himself, with gath’ring clouds opprest,
Amidst the common ruins of the sky;
Collected, or diffus'd, is still the same:
But oh! our highest notes the theme debase,
Revere him in the stillness of the soul : With silent duty meekly bend before him, and deep within your inmost hearts adore him.
« The house appointed for all living." JOB.
Whi'st some affect the sun, and some the shade,
Th' appointed place of rendezvous, where all
night, Dark as was chaos ere the infant gun Was roll*d together, or had tried its beanis Athwart the gloom profound! The sickly taper, By glimm’ring thro' thy low brow'd misty vaults, Furr'd round with mouldy damps, and ropy slimes Lets fall a supernumerary horror, And only serves to make thy night more irksome. Well do I know thee by thy trusty yew, Cheerless, unsocial plant! That loves to dwell 'Midst sculls and coffins, epitaplıs and worms; Where light-heel'd ghosts and visionary shades, Beneath the wan cold moon (as fame reports) Embodied thick, perform their mystic rounds. No other merriment, dull tree! is thine.
See yonder hallow'd fane! the pious work Of names once fam’d, now dubious or forgot, And buried 'midst the wreck of things which
were : There lie interr'd the more illustrious dead. The wind is op: hark! how it howls ! methinks
Till now, I never heard a sound so dreary:
bird Rook'd in the spire screams loud; the gloomy
aisles Black plaster'd and bung round with shreds of
scutcheons, And tatter'd coats of arms, send back the sound Laden with heavier airs, from the low vaults, The mansions of the dead. Rous'd from their
slumbers, In grim array the grisly spectres rise, Grin horrible, and obstinately sullen Pass and repass, hush'd as the foot of night. Again! the screech-owlshrieks: ungracious sound! I'll hear no more; it makes one's blood run chill.
Quite round the pile, a row of rev'rend elms, Coæval near with that, all ragged shew, Long lash'd by the rude winds: some rift half
down Their branchless trunks; others so thin a-top, That scarce two crows could lodge in the same tree. Strange things, the neighbours say, have hap
pen'd here: Wild shrieks have issued from the hollow tombs; Dead men have come again, and walk'd about; And the great bell has toll’d, unrung, untouch'd. Such tales their cheer, at wake or gossipping, When it draws near to witching time of night.
Oft in the lone church-yard at night I've seen,
By glimpse of moonshinc, chequering thro’the trees,
The new-made widow, too, I've sometimes spy'd
Invidious grave!--how dost thou rend in sunder Whom love has knit, and sympathy made one?