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· And Oh! that humble as my lot,

And scorned as is my strain,
These truths, though known, too much forgot,

I may not teach in vain.

So prays your clerk with all his heart,

And ere he quits the pen,
Begs you for once to take his part

And answer all-Amen!



Quod adest, memento
Componere æquus. Cætera fluminis
Ritu feruntur.


Improve the present hour, for all beside
Is a mere feather on a torrent's tide.

Could I, from heaven inspired, as sure presage
To whom the rising year shall prove his last;
As I can number in my pun&tual page,
And item down the viâims of the past;

vol. II.

How each would trembling wait the mournful sheet,
On which the press might stamp him next to die;
And, reading here his sentence, how replete
With anxious meaning, heaven-ward turn his eye!

Time then would seem more precious than the joys,
In which he sports away the treasure now;
And prayer more seasonable than the noise
Of drunkards, or the mufic-drawing bow.

Then doubtless many a trifler, on the brink
Of this world's hazardous and headlong Thore,
Forced to a pause, would feel it good to think,
Told that his setting fun must rise no more.

Ah self-deceived! Could I prophetic fay
Who next is fated, and who next to fall,
The rest might then seem privileged to play;
But, naming none, the Voice now speaks to ALL.

Observe the dappled foresters, how light
They bound, and airy o'er the funny glade-
One falls—the rest, wide-scattered with affright,
Vanith at once into the darkest shade.

Had we their wisdom, should we, often warned,
Still need repeated warnings, and at last,
A thousand awful admonitions scorned,
Die self-accused of life run all to waste?

Sad waste! for which no after-thrift atones:
The grave admits no cure for guilt or fin;
Dew-drops may deck the turf that hides the bones,
But tears of godly grief ne'er flow within.

Learn then ye living! by the mouths be taught
Of all these sepulchres, instructors true,
That, soon or late, death also is your lot,
And the next opening grave may yawn for you.



--Placidaque ibi demum morle quievit.


There calm at length he breathed his soul away.

Or most delightful hour by man

“ Experienced here below, “ The hour that terminates his span,

“ His folly, and his woe!

Worlds should not bribe me back to tread

« Again life's dreary waste, To see again my day o'erspread

With all the gloomy paft.

“ My home henceforth is in the skies,

“ Earth, seas, and sun adieu! . “ All heaven unfolded to my eyes,

“ I have no fight for you."

So fpoke Alpafio, firm posfelt

Of faith's supporting rod,
Then breathed his soul into its rest,

The bosom of his God.

He was a man among the few

Sincere on virtue's fide; And all his strength from scripture drew,

To hourly use applied.

That rule he prized, by that he feared,

He hated, hoped, and loved; Nór ever frowned, or sad appeared,

But when his heart had roved.

For he was frail as thou or I,

And evil felt within:
But when he felt it, heaved a figh,

And loathed the thought of fin,

Such lived Aspalio; and at last

Called up from Earth to 'Heaven, The gulph of death triumphant patient

By gales of blessing driven. ...,57

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