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RES I GN A TI O N.

IN TWO PARTS.

My soul shall be satisfied even as it were with marrow " and fatness; when my mouth praiseth thee with “ joyful lips."

PSALM lxiii. 6.

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A D V E R T IS E M E N T.

THIS was not intended for the Public; there were many and strong reasons against it; and are so still; but some extracts of it, from the few copies which were given away, being gut into the printed papers, it was thought necessary to publish fomething, lest a copy ftill more imperfect than this should fall. into the press : and it is hoped, that this unwelcome occasion of publication may be fome excuse for it.

As for the following stanzas, God Almighty?s infinite

power, and marvellous goodness to man, is dwelt on, as the most just and cogent reafan for our chearful and absolute resignation to his will; nor are any of those topics declined, which have a juft tendency to promote that supreme virtue : such as the vanity of this life, the value of the next, the approach of death, &c.

R E SIGN AT IO N.

PART

I.

THI

HE days how few, how short the years

Of man's too rapid race,
Each leaving, as it swiftly fries,

A shorter in its place!
They who the longest lease enjoy,

Have told us with a sigh,
That to be born seems little rnore,

Than to begin to die.
Numbers there are who feel this truth,

With fears alarm’d; and yet,
In life's delusions lull'd alleep,

This weighty truth forget :
And am not I to these akin ?

Age slumbers o'er the quill;
Its honour blots, whate'er it writes ;

And am I writing still ?
Conscious of nature in decline,

And languor in my thoughts ;
To soften censure, and abate

Its rigour on my
Permit me, Madam! ere to You

The promis'd verse I pay,
To touch on felt infirmity,

Sad lister of decay.

faults;

One world deceas'd, another born,

Like Noah they behold,
O’er whose white hairs, and furrow'd browsz.
Too
many

funs have roll'd : Happy the patriarch! he rejoic'd

His second world to fee;
My second world, though gay the scene,

Can boalt no charms for me.
To me this brilliant age appears.

With desolation spread;
Near all with whom I liv'd, and smild,

Whilft life was life, are dead;
And with them dy'd my joys; the grave

Has broken nature's laws;
And clos'd, against this feeble frame,

Its partial cruel jaws ;
Cruel to spare ! condemn’d to life!

A cloud impairs my sight;
My weak hand disobeys my will,

And trembles as I write.
What shall I write? Thalia, tell ;.

Say, long-abandon’d Muse !
What field of fancy shall I range ?

What subject shall I chuse?
A choice of moment high inspire,

And rescue me from shame,
For doating on thy charms so late,
By grandeur in my theme..

Beyond

Beyond the themes, which most admire,

Which dazzle, or arnaze,
Beyond renown'd exploits of war,

Bright charms, or empire's blaze,
Are themes, which, in a world of woey

Can best appease our pain;
And, in an age of gaudy guilt,

Gay folly's flood restrain;
Amidst the storms of life support

A calm unshaken mind;
And with unfading laurels crown

The brow of the resign'd.
Resignation ! yet unsung,

Untouch'd by former strains ;
Though claiming every Muse's smile,
And
every

Poet's pains,
Beneath life's evening, folemn shade,

I dedicate my page
To thee, thou fafest guard of youth !

Thou sole support of age !
All other duties crescents are

Of virtue faintly bright,
The glorious consummation, Thou !

Which fills her orb with light:
How rarely fillid! The love divine

In evils to discern,
This the first leffon which we want,

The latest, which we learn ;
S

A melan.

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