WOULD you escape the dark malignant leer,.
The bitter taunt, the spirit-wounding sneer;
Then view green folly, with reflection cool;
Reproof inflames, but never mends the fool.
A HAPLESS mendicant, with tatter'd weed.
And rayless orb, along the highway stray'd,
From charity's cold hand to beg a poor
And scanty pittance-oft the humble suit
Prefer'd in vain to prosperous apathy,
Whose pamper'd appetites fastidious feel
No tender sympathy for mis'ry's pangs,
Or stinted meed that poverty sustains.
With lingering pace the tardy moments roll,
And joyless, all since last th' inspiring beam
Of cheering vision bless'd his sightless eye.
From painful thought by sudden clamor rous'd,
The din of multitudes inquiry prompts,
When told 'twas Jesus passing on that way,
A renovating fervor nerv'd anew
His withering frame-he calls for mercy-
Loudly calls, though pride unpitying checks
The infant hope, and deems it bold and vain.
But when the voice of mercy reach'd his ear,
His ragged vestment to the winds he threw,
Nor aught impedes, till at his Sov❜reign's feet
Himself resigns. What sweet benignity
Shone on the brow" of God made manifest!"
The tear of pity trembled in his eye,
As radiant dew adorns the flower
And draws its sweetness forth t' enrich the air.
With gentle voice he asks what he should do,
Or what relief the sufferer most desir'd?
Not that he need be told, nor then, nor now,
What most his followers want. He knows each pang-
He feels each wound-in every member bleeds,
And treasures every tear. But fervent prayer
Prefer'd in faith, was the divine decree,
Should be the channel whence his blessings flow
From the exhaustless fountain of his love.
"Lord grant me sight," the poor petitioner cried;
In faith he ask'd, see faith's efficiency;
"Tis done a world of wonders opens wide
On his astonish'd view. Most wondrous he
Who form'd them thus, and stood unveil'd, lovely
In form; in moral beauty far beyond
All human thought, of fair and excellent.
But who can paint the transport of his soul
Restor❜d to nature's charms! 'tis he alone
Who taught by goodness infinite to feel
His lost estate by the first fathers fall
Involv'd in sin-by nature poor, and blind,
And helpless but by practice tenfold guilt
And misery incur'd. The shades of death
Are deep'ning round, absorb'd in black despair;
No ray of peace pervades the dreadful gloom:
But if the gospel sound salute his ear,
Hope sweetly springs, while grace aloud proclaims
A willing all-sufficient Saviour nigh.
Though guilt forbids, faith grasps the offer'd gift,
He casts his filthy works of death away,
And passive lies at the Redeemer's feet.
Eternal mercy smiles the gloom dispels-
The mists evaporate-the eye of faith
Discerns the Prince of Peace resplendent shine
With pardon in his hands; the world of grace
Unfolds new mysteries of love to man;
He sees the topstone of Redemption laid,
And tastes an antepast of heavenly joys.
Impell❜d by sovereign power, obeys the word.
'Tis thus the fallen soul by sin destroy'd,
Inert and dark, of moral strength devoid,
Still prone to earth, nor higher solace knows,,
Save the low transient joy that sense bestows.
Yet if the sacred word transfix the heart,
And truth divine its energies impart;.
Sin-sick, abhorrant of herself would fly
The dark clay cottage, late her only joy,
While weeping penitence her sins deplore,
As conscience sternly counts the thousands o'er.
But when (commission'd from the throne above)
Sweet mercy chaunts life-breathing strains of love
With lenient hand wipes stains and tears away,
Resistless woos to realms of endless day;
She views the bright reversion in the skies,
Nor longer earth's illusions charm her eyes.
PHILANDER AND EUPHEMIA-
VIRTUE REWARDED.
SWEET maid, though humble as thy garb appears,
And thy fair face impressive sadness wears,
What though thy hand the gleaner's pittance hold,
Thus rarely form'd in nature's finest mould;
In vain shall chilling want assert her claim,
And poverty deny a wreath of fame;
Mild virtue sits enthron'd upon thy brow,
And on thy cheek blooms modesty's pure glow;
While every gesture dignity displays,
Each look declares thee born to better days.
Though bright the auspice on my birth that smil'd,
And gilded hope my morn of life beguil❜d,.
But soon alas! .each glitt'ring phantom fled,
When threat'ning ruin gather'd o'er my head.
Thus, by the rosy hand of morn withdrawn
The saffron curtains of the blushing dawn,
As sol irradiates the blue expanse,
And spicy gales the whispering groves entrance;
The tepid dew inhales the enamour'd ray,
Each gem the trees' varied hues display;
The vales made vocal by the feather'd choir,
Symphonious sounds to wake new joys conspire.
But if the sullen vapours dark'ning roll,
And lurid lightnings dart from pole to pole;
While bellowing winds o'er shaking forests roar,
And muttering clouds full charg'd their torrents pour;
How chang'd the scene-how mute the tuneful grove!
Swept in the dust the gaudy dew-drops prove;
How vain those splendors each assum'd elate,
The faithful emblems of my chang'd estate.
Unus'd to sorrow's melancholy theme,
Few waves have cross'd my life's unruffled stream;
With "noiseless tenor" and unvaried flow,
Alike unknown to transport and to woe ;
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