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He lives in those he left ;-—to what?

Your, now, paternal care,
Clear from its cloud your brighten'd eye,

It will discern him there;
In features, not of form alone,

But those, I trust, of mind ;
Auspicious to the public weal,

And to their fate resign'd.
Think on the tempests he sustain'd;

Revolve his battles won;
And let those prophefy your joy

From such a father's fon :
Is consolation what you seek ?

Fan, then, his martial fire :
And animate to flame the sparks

Bequeath'd him by his fire :
As nothing great is born in haste,

Wise nature's time allow;
His father's laurels may descend,

And flourish on his brow.
Nor, Madam! be surpriz'd to hear

That laurels may be due
Not more to heroes of the field,

(Proud boasters !) than to you: Tender as is the female frame,

Like that brave man you mourn, You are a soldier, and to fight

Superior battles born;

Beneath

Beneath a banner nobler far

Than ever was unfurl'd
In fields of blood ; a banner bright!

High-wav'd o'er all the world.
It, like a streaming meteor, casts

An universal light;
Sheds day, sheds more, eternal day

On nations whelm'd in night.
Beneath that banner, what exploit

Can mount our glory higher,
Than to sustain the dreadful blow,

When those we love expire ?
Go forth a moral Amazon ;

Arm’d with undaunted thought;
The battle won, though cofting dear

You 'll think it cheaply bought :
The passive hero, who fits down

Unactive, and can smile
Beneath affliction's galling load,

Out-acts a Cæfar's toil :
The billows stain'd by slaughter'd foes

Inferior praise afford ;
Reason 's a bloodless conqueror,

More glorious than the sword.
Nor can the thunder of huzzas

From shouting nations, cause
Such sweet delight, as from your heart

Soft whispers of applause :

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The dear deceas'd fo fam'd in arms,

With what delight he 'll view His triumphs on the main outdone,

Thus conquerid, twice, by you. Share his delight; take heed to shun

Of bofoms most diseas'd
That odd distemper, an absurd

Reluctance to be pleas’d :
Some seem in love with sorrow's charms,

And that foul fiend embrace :
This temper let me justly brand,

And stamp it with disgrace :
Sorrow! of horrid parentage !

Thou second-born of hell !
Against heaven's endless mercies pour'd

How dar'st thou to rebel ?
From black and noxious vapours bred,

And nurs’d by want of thought,
And to the door of frenzy's self

By perfeverance brought,
Thy moft inglorious, coward tears

From brutal eyes have ran ;
Smiles, incommunicable smiles !

Are radiant marks of man; They cast a sudden glory round

Th'illumind human face ; And light in fons of honest joy

Some beams of Moses' face :

Is resignation's lesson hard ?

Examine, we fall find
That duty gives up little more

Than anguish of the mind;
Resign ; and all the load of life

That moment you remove,
Its heavy tax, ten thousand cares

Devolve on one above;
Who bids us lay our burthen down

On his almighty hand,
Softens our duty to relief,

To blessing a command.
For joy what cause ? how every sense

Is courted from above
The year around, with presents rich,

The growth of endless love ?
But most o’erlook the blessings pour’d,

Forget the wonders done,
And terminate, wrapp'd up in sense,

Their prospect at the fun;
From that, their final point of view,',

From that their radiant goal,
Ontravel infinite of thought,

Sets out the nobler soul,
Broke loose from time's tenacious ties,

And earth's involving gloom,
To range at large its valt domain,
And talk with worlds to come :

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They let unmark’d, and unemploy'd,

Life's idle moments run ;
And, doing nothing for themselves,

Imagine nothing done ;
Fatal mistake! their fate goes on,

Their dread account proceeds,
And their not-doing is set down

Amongst their darkest deeds ;
Though man fits still, and takes his ease,

God is at work on man;
No means, no moment unemploy'd,

To bless him, if he can.
But man confents not, boldly bent

To fashion his own fate ;
Man, a mere bungler in the trade,

Repents his crime too late;
Hence loud laments : let me thy cause,

Indulgent Father! plead;
Of all the wretches we deplore,

Not one by thee was made.
What is thy whole creation fair ?

Of love divine the child ;
Love brought it forth ; and from its birth,

Has o'er it fondly smil'd :
Now, and through periods distant far,

Long ere the world began,
Heaven is, and has in travel been,

Its birth the good of man;

Man

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