Part 3

Ah! lovely flow’r, art thou already dead, Thy freshness lost, and native fragrance fled? Fair once thou flourish’d on thy lowly stem, Pleasing their sight and smell, who near thee came;-- I found thee then in infant blossom gay-- Why call’d so soon to witness thy decay? What sudden blast so sorely blighted thee? And what thy message or thy charge to me? Was it to tell me that in childhood so, My beauty too receiv’d a fatal blow? That fell distemper’s unrelenting storm Blighted its bloom, ere ripen’d into form? Yes; to my sorrow, ’twas the case I find, Nor want such help to bring it back to mind; The casual remembrance claims a tear-- But let me not long idly ponder here; A more important lesson thou hast brought,-- Oft’ learn’d, but not remember’d as it ought; Then faded not in vain thy beauteous tint, For it has given one seasonable hint; Reminded thoughtless me in whisper smooth-- I too shall die,--a most momentous truth: Which recollection brings a serious train Of mix’d ideas to my busy brain. Day after day flies with unceasing speed-- One day, how near I know not, is decreed, The utmost bound’ry of my mortal date: Then death will summon to his awful gate; Nought can from his commission’d stroke release, Nature must yield within his cold embrace, Nothing more sure;--this mortal body must Moulder and mingle with its kindred dust. But shall this thinking principle within, Also a period have in death’s domain? Must that more noble part its mansion quit, And then in common air evaporate? No! such a thought appals the human heart, And makes it doubly loath with life to part; We will but for a time be separated, To be in lasting union re-united. A soul immortal’s given to my care, Which weal, or woe, with me shall endless share. Have trifles then such melancholy brought, Or for a moment occupied my thought-- That should on everlasting things be fix’d-- Turn from this world and settle on the next! The fashion of this world shall pass away-- The sun itself grow dim--and time decay: This whole terrestrial system have an end: Then why upon such fleeting things depend; So empty in themselves, and transient, So fluctuating all that they present. For take this world, even at its best, Suppose ourselves of all its good possess’d, Something is wanting--we are far from rest. Much in this world, it really matters not, Was meanest of the mean my destin’d lot: External comforts, blessings are, I grant, And call for thanks to heaven, by whom they’re sent; These in my station I have large enjoy’d, Though one great blessing is to me denied; Even that, for some wise purpose is withheld-- For real good these eyes from light are veil’d, Not from the effects of gloomy dull chagrine, Disgust or envy, but with mind serene; From vain amusements I would now depart, And while youth’s ardour animates my heart, Direct my thoughts to Him who rules above, The spring of action and the source of Love. But how effect the rational design-- A God of love indeed, but is he mine? Am I obnoxious to his threaten’d ire-- God out of Christ is a consuming fire! Our great apostacy from heaven at first, Made its pure law declare us all accurs’d. God could not stoop to pardon an offence Against his law, committed only once, And when its precepts we do daily break, In every thing we think, or speak, or act; What can be done--for God will not forgive, Unless full satisfaction he receive; That satisfaction is not in our power, And to attempt it we offend the more, More that Almighty Being is provok’d, Whose word expressly saith, “_He’ll not be mock’d_:” Infinite purity will ne’er be stain’d, But each perfection to the full maintain’d, Then let not poor presumptuous mortals e’er Approach to God, but by a Saviour dear; For He that form’d them will no favour shew, But spurn them and their proffer’d service too. Such is our state, we only can expect Acceptance, for a Mediator’s sake-- Mercy’s God’s darling attribute reveal’d, That justice also might be reconcil’d, That rebel subjects might have free access Unto his gracious favour,--he no less Than parted with a dear and only son, Who cheerful undertook the cause alone. Here admiration fills the musing mind, Heaven’s uncreated heir his place resign’d; His Father’s bosom for a season left, Offer’d himself a voluntary gift; Though worlds unknown, unnumber’d, by his hand Were form’d, sustain’d, and rul’d by his command. Though seraph choirs with adoration prais’d, And round his throne celestial music rais’d; Though of such glory, of such bliss possess’d, As could not be augmented nor decreas’d, Though happy in himself he could have been, Had all this world sunk underneath its sin; Yet came to shew even with his latest breath, A love divine that stronger was than death! When vain was every scheme man could invent, Law’s threats to mitigate or to prevent; That great days--man stood forward in the breach, Did what, nor men, nor angels ere could reach. That for the work he might be qualified, Veil’d his divinity, not laid aside; Step’d in a willing substitute, and gave All that a violated law could crave; Essential dignity in him at once Did its demands and threat’nings both silence, Obey’d its precepts, paid its penalty, And thus the law did highly magnify. Yes; law and justice to the full are pleas’d! Offended Deity’s in him appeas’d! Hence all our hope, that God will us accept! The only way we can his wrath escape! But heavy will his hot displeasure fall On all who hear, yet slight the gospel call: Then shudder daring infidelity, For heavy, heavy will it fall on thee; The measure of your wickedness is full, For ye not only slight but ridicule. What Christ said to the Pharisees, self-wise, Methinks most fitly now to you applies; Ye will not enter mercy’s open door, And what still aggravates your crime the more, To hinder others who would enter there, Have laid a stumbling block, a deadly snare! ’Gainst all that’s sacred and divine have set Your impious talents to obliterate, And make abortive all that Heaven design’d, To cheer in every woe the drooping mind. But vain such foolish impotent efforts! Omnipotence itself the whole supports! Let not your hearts admit a single doubt, His real friends, for he will sure make out His word, and promises, concerning you; Nor fail in one, if truth itself be true. Exalt him in your hearts higher and higher, Let God be true, and every man a liar, Who dares to question with effront’ry broad, The being, or veracity of God! Nor fear his burning wrath should on them break, In whom even devils do believe and quake! The Lord enthron’d in highest heaven shall laugh;-- Exalted far ’bove atheistic scoff-- And justly doth in indignation say, “Vengeance belongs to me, I will repay.” See such a person, at a dying hour, When conscious guilt the soul doth overpower; When death tears off the thick film from her eyes, And sweeps away her refuges of lies; The sand-built system cannot stand the shock, False rear’d on shatter’d reason’s broken rock; Down falls the tower of self-sufficiency, And all within, chaos and uncertainty. The soul is well nigh bordering on despair! Forc’d to remove, and go, she knows not where! In terror driven upon its vast frontiers-- Eternity sounds dreadful in her ears!-- Trembling she stands, upon its boundless brink, And quite incapable to act or think! Cited by conscience to his awful bar, With whom her life has been open at war! That monitor will be no more supprest, But speaks terrific language in the breast! Points to a powerful and incensed God, And thence doth very fearful things forebode Truly deplorable is such a case-- From which religion can alone release. Nought but well grounded hope, and heaven-born faith Can bear through ills of life, or sweeten death, When that dread monarch comes in frowns array’d, Nature shrinks back, confounded and dismay’d; Nor is it strange for death is nature’s foe, Dissolving every tender tie below,-- But when his icy hand the heart blood chills, When bodily and mental pain assails, And every source of earthly comfort fails: True faith in Christ will then its hold maintain, And in that conflict will the soul sustain; Opens bright prospects, and doth plainly show That death, at worst, is now a conquer’d foe! Teaches to follow Him who once did brave-- Nay, triumph’d over and subdued the grave! If in that hour the Saviour grant relief, As long before to the expiring thief; And whisper in the Gospel’s cheering voice, “To-day thou’lt be with me in Paradise!” How will the soul, then elevated high Above this planet, hail its native sky! And though a darksome valley lies between, Each promise is a staff whereon to lean! Dust to its fellow dust doth fearless lend, And joyful flies Eternity to spend, ’Mong fellow-saints on high, at God’s right hand! O! glorious exit, from a world of pain, To where, nor guilt, nor sorrow, enter can: Their state of trial happily is past; And let me recollect while mine doth last, To order so my conduct while in this, As to obtain a life of endless bliss. Since health and strength are seasons then most meet, To make our peace with heav’n sure and complete. Let not the slighting of such golden times Be added to the number of my crimes; But of ourselves we nothing can acquire-- No! not so much as form one good desire. May God’s good spirit then my soul inspire, To apply to Jesus, a Physician fit, The Saviour gracious and compassionate; Who will, with open arms of love, embrace Returning penitents, won by his grace, T’ accept free mercy on the offer’d plan, At infinite expense prepar’d for man: The gospel call doth well my right ensure,-- “Come all who will and drink life’s water pure.” None are excluded, high and low the same, Have to their Maker’s favour equal claim: Though none can merit, all may humbly crave What’s freely promis’d--hoping to receive.-- Oh! Thou who wilt not turn away thine ear, But listen to the needy’s pray’r sincere. Look then upon me in my lost estate; Thy fulness to my wants accommodate: Impute to me a righteousness divine, Else everlasting mis’ry will be mine. In each vicissitude and wildering maze, Keep from arraigning thy most perfect ways-- For what is good thou only dost bestow-- All that is evil from ourselves doth flow. With love to Thee, O! do my bosom warm! Good-will to all that bear the human form. My heart and its affections wholly draw, And hold in due subjection to thy law.-- So as thou canst approve, direct my way, Else will this perverse heart far from thee stray; Unnumber’d vanities lie lurking here, Which, in unguarded moments, oft’ appear, Leaving a sting behind sharp and severe. No power, sin to withstand, is mine I own-- O! let Almighty power in me be shown, And snatch me as a firebrand from the flame,-- Raise a new monument to mercy’s name.

A FACT

_Recorded in the Evangelical Magazine_,

FOR JULY 1812.

Lately I heard a paper read-- O! were it blessed to me for good! I felt it as the writer did, And awful horror chill’d my blood!

Four criminals were to justice brought, But none of them of harden’d mind; They view’d their state as sinners ought, And were to serious thoughts inclin’d.

Of every comfort long depriv’d, In gloomy dungeon they did moan; At last the dreadful day arriv’d, When life must for their crimes atone.

When standing on the scaffold boards, The gazing multitude to teach; Each made in solemn warning words, A simple, but impressive, speech.

Entreating all to shun each crime, Which God and man have doom’d to wrath, Which leads to punishment in time, And tends to everlasting death.

If once associates in guilt, Now friends in sad affliction, they, To press each others hands they felt, Before the scaffold boards gave way.

O! let me hasten to a close-- Poor ATKINSON in turning round, The shifting rope did so dispose, That death long sought could not be found.

Hanging in air--(Oh! dreadful state!) He utter’d a most piercing cry: His words were (awful to relate!) “O God! O God! I cannot die!”

The sufferer was soon reliev’d; ’Twas merciful to speed his doom;-- But be this truth by all believ’d, For all of us may bring it home.

Yes!--we immortal souls possess, (Whoever may this truth deny;) Which shall in endless woe, or bliss, For ever live, and cannot die.

Proud infidel, be mute, be mute,-- Nor longer injur’d heav’n incense; Lest awful vengeance thee refute, And hurry thee blaspheming hence,

To where thou’lt own,--(but ah! too late,) That all thy boasting was a lie; For ever fix’d, thy dismal state, Live, feel thou must--but cannot die.

Even wert thou right, where is thy gain? When thou art nothing, all is lost; In drear annihilation’s reign, Will it be known how big thy boast?

But wrong, O think,--what fury breaks, On miserable thee to fall; An error there, of all mistakes, Will dreadful be, and past recall.

O trust the word of truth reveal’d, And testimony of the good; The _Sacred Book_ to thee is seal’d, And mock’d, because not understood.

Stout-hearted man, let pride no more, Or vice estrange thy soul from God! Improve his word, his grace implore, ’Tis promis’d and will be bestow’d.

O! thou who kindly lead’st the blind, In ways themselves could never trace; In mercy guide each humble mind, And teach the path to endless peace;

It will enhance the boundless bliss, Of all whose names are wrote on high; That they shall ever see thy face, In love, assur’d they cannot die.

A COMPLAINT TO POESY,

_Addressed to a young man about to leave this part of the country_.

Why thoughtful even in company, And always sad when left alone? I will complain to Poesy, Whose tears with mine have often flown.

To thee sweet nymph! I will impart My various feelings as they rise, Thy votary thou wilt not desert, Like others whom my heart doth prize.

Adieu! my dearest friend adieu! Since here you will not, will not stay; My heart’s best wishes rest with you, Though four times five score miles away.

This beating heart’s susceptible, Of friendship pure it has a sense, And while that natural principle, Is not entirely banish’d hence;

Still faithful memory will present, When gone is many a tedious year, The hours we’ve altogether spent, And cause a pleasing, painful tear;

Soft sympathy! (the name is dear, I mention it with gratitude,)-- Doth in each breast for me appear, With that be satisfied I should.

But sad I see, when you depart, The number of my friends decrease; I feel a taste of future smart, Which oft’ I fear to feel like this.

If life prolong’d to age be mine, All now so lov’d may then be gone, Then who will cheer in life’s decline? I’ll ne’er know such as I have known.

But why to Poesy complain? Will not the plain impartial muse Assume her power, and me arraign, Of selfish ends, of selfish views?

She in this manner doth reprove,-- Conceal such sentiments as thine, If fortune favours those we love, Should we because of that repine.

You wrong me I did sighing say, Do not misunderstand me so; Become of C---- whatever may, ’Twill give her pleasure that to know.

But ah! my heart has many a fear, T’ avert which, heav’n, I thee implore, I dread yon town’s unwholesome air, But dread its bad example more.--

Oh! may all watchful Providence, Still guard from every sinful snare; Preserve in health and innocence, You making its peculiar care.

A sober, pious, harmless life Maintain, and keep its end in view, Which soon, or late, will sure arrive, Then what is all this world to you.

Let atheists at religion laugh, And libertines live as they list; But on a death-bed who can scoff, God then in fear will be confess’d!

Rejoice young man in days of youth, Thine heart with every folly cheer; But know, all these, as true as truth, In after judgment must appear!

To Israel thus the sacred page-- But wrote for our instruction too; It speaks to youth in every age, And now my friend it cautions you.

With vigorous health your bosom glows,-- False dazzling views elate your soul; Brisk through each vein life’s current flows,-- Each passion apt to spurn control.

But oh! let timely counsel warn, While yet I hope no friend to vice; From wisdom’s pathway never turn, Though folly should with smiles entice.

Be serious, prudent, circumspect, Shun pleasure’s fascinating lure; And oh! may heaven your heart direct, To all that’s virtuous, good, and pure.

Consider boyish years are flown, Endeavour manhood so to spend, As honour strict may fairly own, Conscience approve, and heaven commend.

And then though slander aim her darts, Your reputation fair to wound; Still truth will triumph o’er her arts, Her dark designs dash and confound.

The sober will such worth admire, And wealth on diligence attends; Fame, fortune, will I hope conspire, To gain you many valued friends.

And pleasing circles will adorn Your hearth, to cheer each hour of rest; Each night close calm as rose the morn, Each day be happy as the past.

Heaven’s favour heightens every joy,-- Makes every comfort taste more sweet; But vice doth every bliss destroy, Follow’d by fear, shame, and regret.

But even should adverse fortune frown, Troubles assail, no friend remain; God never can forsake his own, But all who trust him will sustain.

If bitters in life’s cup are mix’d, ’Tis from this world their hearts to wean; To qualify them for the next, Where bliss complete cures every pain.

That this may be your happy lot; (And oh! how happy none can tell!) Has oft’ employ’d her earnest thought, Who sighing says,--dear youth, Farewell!

VERSIFICATION

OF

=Ossian’s Address to the Moon=.

Daughter of heaven! fair art thou,-- The brightness of thy face, Is pleasant to the travellers’ view, When darkness flies apace.

The stars attend thy azure steps, And murky clouds, O! Moon,-- Sport in thy beams, their brightening shapes, Rejoicing as at noon.

Night’s lovely daughter in the sky, Who doth like thee preside; The stars asham’d thy presence fly, Their sparkling eyes to hide.

But where dost thou thyself repair, When dark thy count’nance grows? Hast thou a hall like Ossian, where Grief’s shadows thee enclose?

Fell thy fair sisters from the skies, That nightly shone before? They in thy presence did rejoice, And are they now no more?

Yes! they are fall’n. O! fairest light! Who did thy path adorn; And thou dost oft’ retire from sight, Thy loss of friends to mourn.

But thou thyself shalt one night fail, Nor more in Heaven appear; Then stars that shrunk before thee pale, With joy their heads shall rear.

Yet, while with brightest beams begirt, Look from thy lofty gate.-- O! burst ye winds that cloud apart, Let her appear in state!

The shaggy mountains to illume, And make their summits bright; That azure waves ’midst ocean’s gloom, May roll in rays of light!

BALCLUTHA’s RUINS;

_Versified from Ossian_.

Raise, ye, my Bards, said mighty Fingal, raise A mournful song, in sad Moina’s praise; Call to our hills her ghost with tuneful air, That she may rest in peace with Morven’s fair. The sun-beams mild on other days that shone, Delights of ancient heroes long since gone. I’ve seen Balclutha’s walls, but they are sad, And dreary desolation round them spread; The ruinous fire had rioted in the hall; The people’s voice is heard no more at all; And Clutha’s course was alter’d by the fall; And there the thistle shook its lonely head, Thro’ wither’d moss the wind a whistling made; The skulking fox did from the window look, And rank the tufted grass around him shook: ‘Such is the dwelling of Moina now, The habitation of her fathers low. Then raise ye Bards, a sweetly mournful strain, And o’er the stranger’s land in song complain; They only fell a little us before, We too must one day fall and be no more. Why build the hall, son of the winged days? Or why with toil a stately fabric raise? To-day thou lookest from thy tower elate; Yet a few years, for lo! how short the date! Then desert blasts howl in thy empty court, And whistle round thy shield in seeming sport; And come thou desert blast, with howling sound, We in our little day shall be renown’d; Still shall be heard our deeds in battles past, And in the song of bards our name shall last; When thou shalt fail, O! sun of heaven so bright! If thou indeed must fail, thou mighty light! If thou, like me, but for a season art, Our fame shall live when thy last beams depart.

ANOTHER EXTRACT

_From Ossian._

From grief a kind of joy doth flow, When peace is in the breast; Some minds indulge themselves in woe, And love to be distress’d.

Altho’ by sad remembrance pain’d, The heart still holds it dear, The soft sensation is retain’d, Tho’ causing many a tear.--

But sorrow wastes the mournful soul, Its joyless days are few, Whose heart of settled sadness full Bids cheerfulness adieu!--

A willing stranger to delight, It wastes in early bloom, Like flowers which nightly mildews blight, And scorching suns consume.--

The floweret bends its heavy head, The killing drops to drink, So does the mind to pleasure dead, In cherish’d sorrow sink.--

But grief doth such in secret waste, Their fleeting days are few, Whose minds by settled gloom possess’d, Bid cheerfulness adieu!--

=A Petition=

TO A MEDICAL GENTLEMAN.

Would, Sir, that I could win your ear, A favour is petition’d here, Though much you have already done, Yet bear with one request from me: Your patient, now, I fain would be, If granted so desir’d a boon;

A plan might be devis’d that would Be blest, who knows, to do me good. And, O! it were a happy thing! ’Twould greatly better my condition, Spread your fame as a physician, Double pleasure thence would spring.

Not that I mean your skill’s denied, If so, I had not first applied, Much less my pleading now renew; But curing such a stubborn case, Your usefulness would much increase, Tho’ fame should weigh but light with you.