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militude. Accept, then, a few hints of consolation from a part of scripture, which, by an easy turn of thought, may be applied to your case.

Rev. xii. I. - A woman clothed with the sun, and the moon under her feet : v. 2. Being with child, travailed in birth : v. 5. And she brought forth a man child, and it was caught up to God and his throne : v. 6. And the woman had a place prepared of God in the wilderness, V. 14. To be nourished for a time and times ; great dragon that was cast out of heaven, the old serpent called the Devil and Satan, v. 13. Persecuted the woman: V. 15. And cast out of his mouth water as a flood: v. 17. And went to make war with the remnant of her seed.

Thus far the words of scripture.

9. But the

Now, Madam, if you have put on Christ, and are clothed by faith with the Sun of righteousness; if you are drest in the shining graces of heaven, and have the pale and changing glories of this world under your feet, then you may be assured the child that you have brought forth is not lost, but is caught up to God and his throne, by virtue of that extensive covenant which includes sincere Christians and their offspring together. Mourn not therefore for your son who is with God, but rather for yourself, who are yet in the wilderness of this world, where the old serpent has so much power; where he will persecute you with the flood of his temptations, if possible to carry you away

with them ; but I trust God has prepared a place for your safety, even his church, his gospel, his own everlasting arms.

Yet shall the serpent make war with the remnant of your seed; your little daughter that remains in the wilderness must go through this war, and be exposed to these temptations. O turn your tears from your son, into pity and prayer for yourself and your daughter, that ye may never be carried away by these floods; but when the times are past which God has appointed for your abode and nousishment in the wilderness, you may rejoice to find yourself, with all your offspring, in everlasting safety before the throne of God. Amen.

So prays your affectionate, &c. May 2. 1719.

I. W.

III. Heathen Poesy Christianized. 1736. It is a piece of ancient and sacred history which Moses inform us of, that when the tribes of Israel departed from the land of Egypt, they borrowed of their neighbours gold and jewels, by the appointment of God, for the decoration of their sacrifices and solemn worship, when they should arrive at the appointed place in the wilderness. God himself taught his people how the richest of metals which had ever been abused to the worship of idols, might be purified by the fire, and, being melted up into a new form, might be consecrated to the service of the living God, and add to the magnificence and grandeur of his tabernacle and temple. Such are some of the poetical writings of the ancient Heathens : they have a great deal of native beauty and lustre in them, and, through some happy turn given them by the pen of a Christian poet, may be transformed into divine meditations, and may assist the devout and pious soul in several parts of the Christian life and worship.

Amongst all the rest of the Pagan writers, I know none so fit for this service as the odes of Horace, as vile a sinner as he was. Their manner of composure comes nearer the spirit and force of the psalms of David than any other ; and as we take the devotions of the Jewish king, and bring them into our Christian churches, by changing the scene and the chronology, and superadding some of the glories of the gospel, so the representation of some of the Heathen virtues, by a little more labour, may be changed into Christian graces, or at least into the image of them, so far as human power can reach. One day musing on this project, I made an experiment on the two last stanzas of Ode

29. Book iii.


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Non meum est, si mugiat Africis
Malus procellis, ad miseras preces
Decurrere, et votis pacisci,

Ne Cypric Tyriæque merces
Addant avaro divitias mari.
Tunc me biremis præsidio scapha,
Tutum per Ægæos tumultus
Aura feret, geminusque Pollux,

Let Spain's proud traders, when the mast
Bends groaning to the stormy blast,
Run to their beads with wretched plaints,
And vow and bargain with their saints,
Lest Turkish silks, or Tyrian wares,

Sink in their drowning ship,
Or the rich dust Peru prepares,

Defraud their long projecting cares,
And add new treasures to the greedy deep.

My little skiff, that skims the shores,
With half a sail, and two short oars,
Provides me food in gentler waves :
But if they gape in watry graves,
I trust th' eternal power, whose hand

Hath swell's the storm so high,
To waft my boat, and me to land,

Or give some angel swift command
To bear the drowning sailor to the sky.

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Begin, my muse, the heav'nly song,
A burden for an angel's tongue :
When Gabriel sounds these awful things,
He tunes and summons all his strings.

Proclaim inimitable love :
Jesus, the Lord of worlds above,
Puts of the beams of bright array,
And vails the God in mortal clay.

What black reproach de fild bis name,
When with our sin he took our shame!
The power whom kneeliny angels blest
Is made the impious rabble's jest.

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He that distributes crowns and thorns,
Hangs on a tree, and bleeds and groans :
The Prince of life resigns his breath,
The King of glory bows to death.

But see the wonders of his power,
He triumphs in his dying hour,
And whilst by Satan's rage he fell,
He dash'd the rising hopes of hell.

Thus were the hosts of death subdu'd,
And sin was drown'd in Jesus' blood;
Then he arose, and reigns above,
And conquers sinners by his love.

If I could pursue all the wondrous achievements of a dying and a rising Saviour in verse, as fast and as far as my thoughts sometimes attempt to trace them, I should lengthen this ode to many stanzas, and yet, at last, I should lose both my thoughts and my verse amongst the unknown wonders of his glory, and the ages of eternity.


Who shall fulfil this boundless song?

What vain pretender dares?
The theme surmounts an angel's tongue,

And Gabriel's heart despairs

V. COMPLAINT and Hope under great PAIN. 1736.

LORD, I am pain'd; but I resign

To thy superior will :
'Tis grace-'tis wisdom all divine,
Appoints the pains I feel.

Dark are thy ways of providence,

While those that love thee groan.
Thy reasons lie conceal'd from sense,
Mysterious and unknown.

Yet Nature may bave leave to speak,

And plead before her God,
Lest the o'erburden'd heart should breat
Beneath thy heavy rod.

Will nothing but such daily pain

Secure my soul from hell ?
Canst thou not make


bealth attain
Thy kind designs as well ?

How shall my tongue proclaim tby grace

While thus at home confin'd?
TV hat can I write, while painful flesh
Hangs beavy on the mind ?

* Note, In this ode, there are three or four lines taken from Mr Sten-
net's Sacramental Hymns; for when I found they exprest my thought and
design, in proper and beautiful language, I chose rather to borrow and aco
knowledge the debt, than to labour hard for worse lines, that I might have
the poor pleasure of calling them my own,

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