CXV.

1. Blinded in YOUTH by Satan's arts,
The world to our unpractis'd hearts
A flattering prospect shows;
Our fancy forms a thousand schemes
Of gay delights, and golden dreams,
And undisturb'd repose.

2. So in the desert's dreary waste,
By magic powers produc'd in haste,
(As ancient fables say)

Castles, and groves, and music sweet,
The senses of the trav'ller meet,
And stop him in his way.

3. But while he listens with surprise, The charm dissolves, the vision dies, "Twas but enchanted ground: Thus if the Lord our spirit touch, The world, which promis'd us so much, A wilderness is found.

4. At first we start, and feel distress'd, Convinc'd we never can have rest

In such a wretched place;

But he whose mercy breaks the charm,
Reveals his own almighty arm,

And bids us seek his face.

5. Then we begin to live indeed,
When from our sin and bondage freed
By this beloved friend;

We follow him from day to day,
Assur'd of grace through all the way,
And glory at the end.

CXVI.

1, Thankless for favours from on high,
Man thinks he fades too soon;
Though 'tis his privilege to die
Would he improve the boon.

2. But he not wise enough to scan
His best concerns aright,

Would gladly stretch life's little span
To ages, if he might.

3. To

ages in a world of pain

To ages where he goes

Gall'd by affliction's heavy chain,

And hopeless of repose!

A

4. Strange fondness of the human heart Enamour'd of its harm!

Strange World that costs it so much smart, And still has pow'r to charm.

5. He lives, who lives to God alone;
And all are dead beside;

For other source than God is none
Whence life can be supplied.

CXVII.

1. Like crowded forest trees we stand,
And some are mark'd to fall;
The axe will smite at God's command,
And soon shall smite us all.

2. Green as the bay-tree ever green With its new foliage on,

The

gay, the thoughtless, I have seen, I pass'd-and they were gone.

3. Read, ye that run! the solemn truth Taught by the sacred page;

A worm is in the bud of Youth

And at the root of Age.

CXVIII.

1. He who sits from day to day,
Where the prison'd lark is hung,
Heedless of his loudest lay,
Hardly knows that he has sung.
Daily visitations come

Publishing to all aloud

Soon the GRAVE must be your home,
And your only suit, a shroud.

2. But the monitory strain,
Oft repeated in our ears,
Seems to sound too much in vain,

Wins no notice, wakes no fears.
Pleasure's call attention wins,

Hear it often as we may; New as ever seem our sins,

Though committed every day.

3. Death and Judgment, Heaven and HellThese alone, so often heard,

No more move us than the bell

When some stranger is interr'd:

Oh then, ere the turf or tomb
Cover us from every eye,
Spirit of instruction, come,

Make us learn that we must die!

CXIX.

1. My thoughts, that oft ascend the skies, Go, search the world beneath, Where nature all in ruin lies,

And owns her sov'reign, DEATH!

2. The tyrant, how he triumphs here!
His trophies spread around!
And heaps of dust and bones appear
Through all the hollow ground!

3. Soon must we leave the banks of Life,
And try Death's doubtful sea:
Vain are our groans, and dying strife
To gain a moment's stay!

4. Soon shall some friend let fall the tear On our cold limbs, and say,

"These once were strong as mine appear, "And mine must be as they !"