Sonnets on graver Subjects.
GRIM King of Terrors! ruling over all,
Thy subjects crushing with terrific yoke ; Beneath thine hand the mean and mighty fall,
As falls the grass beneath the mower's stroke. What countless myriads people thy domain
Moulder in dust, or melt below the waves! What living myriads feel thine awful reign—
Thy frantic agents, or thy trembling slaves! Sin did thy being, and thy poison bring,
But heav'nly love a mighty Conqu❜ror gave; He for his people drew thy dreadful sting,
And burst for them thy dungeon of the grave. He frees their souls, and shall their dust restore, When time shall end, and Death shall be no more.
SWEET Hope! thou sacred gift on man bestow'd,
To wing his spirit from this vale of tears;
Bright ray of heav'n, to cheer his dark abode,
In whose strong light eternity appears.
The weary soul, oppress'd with grief and care,
By thee looks onward, waiting better days;
Sonnets on graver Subjects.
Lifts up
to God the confidence of pray'r,
And breathes assur'd, anticipated praise.
Faith reads thy warrant in the promise sure,
Beholds thy purchase in a Saviour's blood,
With thy pure substance* forms man's spirit pure†,
And teaches Patience "all shall work for good."
Firm anchor of the soul! to mortals giv'n,
Thou holdest heav'n to man, and man to heav'n.
SONNET ON HEAVEN.
SWEET prospect of th' eternal hills!
Thy glimpse the soul with transport fills.
Though from this misty vale of tears
We through a glass but dimly see,
Yet sacred light the vision clears,
And Faith's strong eyes can look to thee.
When rudely by earth's tempests driv❜n,
And all below is grief, or care,
How bless'd to turn the view to Heav'n,
And find a certain portion there!
Sweet is the glimpse, but Oh, how sweet!
When Faith shall be exchang'd for sight;
When Hope shall full fruition meet,
And Love, its pure supreme delight.
THOU whom I still rejoice to find
My friend, and friend of humankind;
I name thee not, for thou art prone
To act unseen, and give unknown;
As dew-drops cheer the verdant blades
In silence 'neath the evening shades.
Not public good takes all thy care,
Though thou art always foremost there;
Nor doth thy private bounty flow,
To soften merely modest woe;
Thou dost with lib'ral hand employ
Thy wealth, to heighten humble joy.
As nineteen years have pass'd along,
Each gave the subject of my song.
No Christmas came, but with it brought
A better bird than could be bought;
A large plump Turkey, fat and fine,
And fit an Emperor to diue:
Such year by year your bounty sends,
To feast my family and friends;
Nor is alone my table crown'd,
But those of all poor parsons round.
A turkey of delicious brood,
Come how it may, is dainty food;
But coming as a friendly treat,
The kindness makes it doubly sweet.
My skill but baffles my intent,
To make, or pen a compliment;
As thus my warmest efforts fail,
Accept my wishes-and a tale.
It happen'd once, long time ago,
About two hundred years, or so,
Henry of France had travell'd far,
To fix his question'd throne by war*.
Weary and faint, one night he rode
To where an Officer abode †.
His friend was absent, but the dame,
Unknowing who, or whence he came,
Receiv'd him with a gracious air,
As judging, from appearance fair,
To the battle of d'Ivri.
+ To Alençon.
Her husband's friend, her sudden guest,
Deserv'd her entertainment best;
But yet her looks some care reveal'd,
That could not be by art conceal'd.
Her guest observ'd the rising pain,
And kindly ask'd her to explain.
"Why, Sir," said she, "I sadly grieve,
"Because on this our fast-day eve,
"I have not, and can nowhere meet,
"A morsel fit for you to eat.
"One neighbour has a turkey fit
"To place directly on the spit;
"But he will no way give it up,
Unless he comes with you to sup.
"Now I am vex'd this tradesman rude
"Should thus unmannerly intrude,
"And know not but his bold pretence
"May give some undesign'd offence."
"Oh! let him come," said Henry kind,
"He and his bird may welcome find;
"'Tis better sup with him, no doubt,
"Than shut him and his turkey out."
'Twas settled soon the man was there,
Resign'd his turkey, took his chair,
With gay good humour crack'd his joke,
And rais'd fresh mirth whene'er he spoke ;
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