No cares nor passions here the bosom rend, Here wasting pain and earthly troubles cease! Here hopeless love and cruel hatred end,
And the world's weary trav'ler rests in peace.
Approach, vain child of fortune, pow'r, and fame! Here learn a lesson from each speaking bust; View on each lofty tomb the envied name Of worldly greatness, levelled in the dust.
How high each pers'nage once, how honour'd read; How low, how little now, look down and see; Hence learn to know thyself; for 'tis decreed, That thou as little and as low shalt be,
Full many a hapless victim yet unborn,
O death all conq'ring! at thy feet must fall, Before the dawning of that glorious morn, When thou shalt yield, and God be all in all,
Then from the silent grave and op'ning tomb Shall each reviving tenant lift his head. And this time-honour'd abbey's crouded womb Resign its treasures of illustrious dead.
E'en now, methinks, by faith's pervading eye I see his banner in the clouds display'd, And the world's Saviour, from his throne on high, Descend in purest robes of light array'd.
Great day of gladness to the good and just, When they shall taste the wonders of his love, And rising joyful from their beds of dust,
Ascend triumphant to the realms above.
Then shall the finish'd bust, the sculptur'd stone And all the labour of the artist's hand, Dissolve; and virtue's solid base alone Amidst the gen'ral wreck of matter stand.
Yea, should creation founder in the storm, And whelming perish in this awful doom, Yet shall celestial virtue's angel form
Survive, and flourish in immortal bloom.
Then shall the good resolve, the gen'rous deed, And noble conflict in religion's cause, Fe well rewarded: ('tis by Heav'n decreed,) And surely meet at judgment God's applause.
O be it then our wisdom to secure
Those glorious crowns that shine for ever bright: Crowns that adorn the faithful and the pure, In the blest mansions of eternal light.
RIEND to the wretch whom every friend forsakes,
I woo thee, Death! In fancy's fairy paths
Let the gay songster rove, and gently trill The strain of empty joy. Life and its joys I leave to those that prize them. At this hour, This solemn hour, when silence rules the world, And wearied nature makes a gen'ral pause; Wrapt in night's sable robe, through cloysters drear And charnels pale, tenanted by a throng Of meagre phantoms shooting cross my path With silent glance, I seek the shadowy vale Of Death. Deep in a murky cave's recess, Lav'd by oblivion's listless stream, and fenc'd By shelving rocks, and intermingled horrors Of yew and cypress shade, from all intrusion Of busy noontide beam, the Monarch sits In unsubstantial majesty enthron'd.
At his right hand, nearest himself in place And frightfulness of form, his parent Sin With fatal industry and cruel care Busies herself in pointing all his stings, And tipping every shaft with venom drawn From her infernal store: around him rang'd In terrible array, and mixture strange
Of uncouth shapes, stand his dread Ministers. Foremost Old Age, his natural ally
And firmest friend; next him Diseases thick, A motley train; Fever, with cheek of fire;. Consumption wan; Palsy, half warm with life, And half a clay clod lump; joint-tort'ring Gout, And ever-gnawing Rheum; Convulsion wild; Swoln Dropsy; panting Asthma; Apoplex Full-gorg'd. There too the Peftilence that walks In darkness, and the Sickness that destroys At broad noon- day. These and a thousand more, Horrid to tell, attentive wait; and, when
Ey Heav'n's command Death waves his ebon wand, Sudden rush forth to execute his purpose, And scatter desolation o'er the earth.
Il-fated Man, for whom such various forms. Of mis'ry wait, and mark their future prey! Ah! why all-righteous Father, didst thou make This creature, Man? why wake th' unconcious dust To life and wretchedness? O better far Still had he slept in uncreated night, If this the lot of being! was it for this Thy breath divine kindled within his breast The vital flame? For this was thy fair image Stampt on his soul in godlike lineaments? For this dominion giv'n him absolute
O'er all thy works, only that he might reign Supreme in woe? From the blest source of Good CouldPain and Death proceed? Could such foul ills Fall from fair Mercy's hands? Far be the thought, The impious thought! God never made a creature Eut what was good. He made a living Soul;
The wretched Mortal was the work of Man. Forth from his Maker's hands he sprung to life, Fresh with immortal bloom; no pain he knew, No fear of change, no check to his desires,
Save one command. That one command which stood 'Twixt him and Death, the test of his obedience,
Urg'd on by wanton curiosity,
There in one moment was undone
The fairest of God's works.
That pluck'd in evil hour the fatal fruit, Unbarr'd the gates of Hell, and let loose Sin And Death, and all the family of Pain. To prey upon Mankind. Young Nature saw The monstrous crew, and shook thro' all her frame. Then fled her new-born lustre, then began
Heaven's cheerful face to low'r then vapours choak'd The troubled air, and form'd a veil of clouds To hide the willing Sun. The earth convuls'd With painful throes threw forth a bristly crop Of thorns and briars; and Insect, Bird, and Beast, Phat wont before with admiration fond
To gaze at Man, and fearless crowd around him, Now fled before his face, shunning in haste The infection of his misery. He alone Who justly might, th' offended Lord of Man, Turn'd not away his face; he, full of pity, Forsook not in this uttermost distress
His best lov'd work. That comfort still remain'd (That best, that greatest comfort in affliction) The countenance of Ged, and thro' the gloom Shot forth some kindly gleams, to cheer and warm Th' offender's sinking soul. Hope sent from Heav'n
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