Part 2
Behold the blushing rose Her lovely tints display, The queen of ev'ry flow'r that blows Beneath the eye of day! Yon lily of the vale, Scarce peeping thro' the green, That folds around her bosom pale, Aspires not to be seen. The same Almighty hand That decks with gems the skies, Makes the Fly's painted wings expand, And the gay tulip rise. When tempests threaten loud, His rays of light he pours, And forms the rainbow in the cloud, Dissolving soon in show'rs! And shall a child be vain, Less than the lily fair? Can I so soft a tint obtain, Or with the rose compare? The beauty of the mind Let me then learn to prize, Nor boast of features far beneath The pride of flow'rs and flies! If I am not as fair, I am as frail as they. To honour God be all my care, And that without delay.
_London, Published by R. Miller, Old Fish Street, Doctors Commons._
N^o. 17.
_The_ VILLAGE PREACHER Goldsmith.
Near yonder copse, where once the garden smil'd, And still where many a garden flow'r grows wild, There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, The village preacher's modest mansion rose. A man he was to all the country dear, And passing rich with forty pounds a year; Remote from towns he ran his godly race, Nor e'er had chang'd, nor wish'd to change his place; Unskilful he to fawn, or seek for pow'r, By doctrines fashioned to the varying hour; Far other aims his heart had learn'd to prize, More bent to raise the wretched than to rise. Beside the bed, where parting life was laid, And sorrow, guilt, and pain, by turns dismay'd, The rev'rend champion stood. At his controul Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul; Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise, And his last falt'ring accents whisper'd praise. At church with meek and unaffected grace, His looks adorn'd the venerable place; Truth from his lips prevail'd with double sway; And fools, who came to scoff, remain'd to pray. The service past, around the pious man, With ready zeal, each honest rustic ran; Ev'n children follow'd with endearing wile, And pluck'd his gown, to share the good man's smile, His ready smile a parents warmth express'd, Their welfare pleas'd him, and their care distress'd; To them his heart, his love, his griefs were giv'n, But all his serious thoughts had rest in heav'n.
_London, Published by R. Miller, Old Fish Street, Doctors Commons._
N^o. 18.
THE CRUCIFIXION. D^r. Stennett
'Tis finish'd!--so the Saviour cry'd, And meekly bow'd his head and dy'd. 'Tis finish'd--yes, the race is run, The battle fought, the vic'try won. 'Tis finish'd--all that heav'n decreed, And all the ancient prophets said, Is now fulfill'd, as was design'd, In me, the Saviour of mankind. 'Tis finish'd--Aaron now no more Must stain his robes with purple gore, The sacred veil is rent in twain, And Jewish rites no more remain. 'Tis finish'd--this my dying groan Shall sins of ev'ry land atone, Millions shall be redeem'd from death, By this my last expiring breath. 'Tis finish'd--heav'n is reconcil'd, And all the pow'rs of darkness spoild; Peace, love, and happiness again Return, and dwell with sinful men. 'Tis finishd--let the joyful sound Be heard thro' all the nations round: 'Tis finish'd--let the echo fly Thro heav'n and hell, thro earth and sky.
_London, Published by R. Miller, Old Fish Street, Doctors Commons._
N^o. 19.
EASTER DAY. M^{rs}. Barbanld.
This day be grateful homage paid, And loud hosannas sung: Let gladness dwell in ev'ry heart, And praise on ev'ry tongue. Ten thousand diff'rent lips shall join, To hail this welcome morn, Which scatters blessings from its wings, To nations yet unborn. Jesus the friend of human kind, With strong compassion mov'd, Descended, like a pitying God, To save the souls he lov'd. The pow'rs of darkness leagu'd in vain, To bind his soul in death; He shook their kingdom, when he fell, With his expiring breath. Not long the toils of Hell could keep The hope of Judah's line; Corruption never could take hold On aught so much divine. And now his conqu'ring chariot wheels Ascend the lofty skies; While broke, beneath his pow'rful cross, Death's iron sceptre lies. Exalted high at God's right hand, The Lord of all below: Thro him is pard'ning love dispens'd, And boundless blessings flow.
_London, Published by R. Miller, Old Fish Street, Doctors Commons._
N^o. 20.
A THOUGHT ON WAKING. Anonymous.
Sleep by night, and cares by day, Bear my fleeting life away: Lo! in yonder eastern skies, The Sun appears, and bids me rise: Tells me, Life is on the wing, And has no returning spring: Death comes on with steady pace, And life's the only day of grace.-- Shining Preacher! happy morning, Let me take th' important warning: Rouse then all my active pow'rs, Well improve the coming hours: Let no trifles kill the day, (Trifles oft our hearts betray) Wisdom, Virtue, Knowledge, Truth, Guide th' enquiries of my youth. Wisdom and experience sage, Then shall soothe the cares of age; These with time shall never die; Those will lead to joys on high; Those the path of life display, Shining with celestial day; Blissful path! with safety trod, The end of which is heav'n and God.
_London, Published by R. Miller, Old Fish Street, Doctors Commons._
N^o. 21.
INDUSTRY. Anonymous.
Behold, fond youth, that busy bee; How swift she flies from tree to tree; Extracting flow'ry sweets; Thus cheerful all the day she'll roam, At evening seek her much lov'd home, To treasure all she meets.
Full well she knows, that winter keen, Must come to blast this painted scene, With famine on his wing: Her prudent labors find repose; Nor winters cold, nor want she knows, Till time renews the spring.
While yonder drone in sunny haunts, Who just supplies his present wants, Nor heeds the passing hours; Soon bleak december's piercing air, Shall mock his want of timely care, And chill his vital powers.
Like the dull drone, should he who throws Away what Providence bestows. Feel pinching hours of need; While they whose care is to increase, Find, like the bee, in winter peace, And every good succeed.
_London, Published by R. Miller, Old Fish Street, Doctors Commons._
N^o. 22.
JOURNEY TO EMMAUS. Cowper.
It happen'd on a solemn eventide Soon after he that was our surety died, Two bosom friends, each pensively inclin'd. The scene of all those sorrows left behind, Sought their own village, busied as they went In musings worthy of the great event; They spake of him they lov'd, of him whose life Tho' blameless, had incur'd perpetual strife, Whose deeds had left, in spite of hostile arts, A deep memorial graven on their hearts. The recollection, like a vein of ore, The further trac'd, enrich'd them still the more; They thought him, and they justly thought him, one Sent to do more than he appear'd t' have done T' exalt a people, and to place them high Above all else, and wonder'd he should die, Ere yet they brought their journey to an end, A stranger join'd them, courteous as a friend. And ask'd them with a kind engaging air What their affliction was, and begg'd a share. Inform'd, he gather'd up the broken thread, And truth and wisdom gracing all he said, Explain'd, illustrated, and search'd so well The tender theme on which they chose to dwell That, reaching home, the night, they said is near, We must not now be parted, sojourn here. The new acquaintance, soon became a guest And made so welcome at their simple feast He bless'd the bread, but vanish'd at the word, And left them both exclaiming, 'T'was the Lord'! Did not our hearts feel all he deign'd to say. Did they not burn within us by the way?
_London, Published by R. Miller, Old Fish Street, Doctors Commons._
N^o. 23.
A COUNTRY PROSPECT. Sir Rich^d Hill.
While all thy glories, O my God! Thro the creation shine; While rocks, and hills, and fertile vales Proclaim the hand divine. O may I view with humble heart The wonders of thy pow'r, Display'd alike in wilder scenes, As in each blade and flow'r. But while I taste thy blessings, Lord, And sip the streams below, O may my soul be led to thee, From whence all blessings flow; And if such footsteps of thy love, Thro this lost world we trace; How far transcendent are thy works Throughout the world of grace. Just as before yon noontide sun, The brightest stars are small. So earthly comforts are but snares, Till grace has crown'd them all.
_London, Published by R. Miller, Old Fish Street, Doctors Commons._
N^o. 24.
HAY TIME. Newton.
The grass and flow'rs which clothe the field, And look so green and gay, Touch'd by the scythe, defenceless yield, And fall, and fade away.
Fit emblem of our mortal state: Thus in the scripture glass, The young, the strong; the wise, the great; May see themselves but grass.
O! trust not to your fleeting breath, Nor call your time your own; Around you see the scythe of death Is mowing thousands down.
And you, who hitherto are spar'd, Must shortly yield your lives: Your wisdom is to be prepar'd, Before the stroke arrives.
The grass, when dead, revives no more; You die to live again; But oh! if death should prove the door To everlasting pain.
Lord, help us to obey thy call, That from our sins set free, When like the grass our bodies fall, Our souls may spring to thee.
_London, Published by R. Miller, Old Fish Street, Doctors Commons._
N^o. 25.
SAMUEL. Anonymous.
When I survey this holy child, With bended knee, and count'nance mild, With eyes and hands uplift in prayer, The approving ray from heaven there.
What that implies O could I be, Whene'er to God I bend the knee! Thus fervent, reverent, and meek, When I for heavenly blessings seek!
But ah! I have a foe within, No print can shew the power of sin! This cools my fervour and desires, This unbelief and dread inspires.
O for thy holy Spirit, Lord! This to my prayers shall life afford! With Samuel's faith my soul supply, Whene'er I to thy throne draw nigh.
_London, Published by R. Miller, Old Fish Street, Doctors Commons._
N^o. 26.
WHITSUNDAY. Watts.
Great was the day, the joy was great, When the divine disciples met, Whilst on their heads the Spirit came, And sat like tongues of cloven flame.
What gifts, what miracles he gave! And pow'r to kill, and pow'r to save! Furnish'd their tongues with wond'rous words, Instead of shields, and spears, and swords!
Thus arm'd, he sent the champions forth, From east to west, from south to north; "Go, and assert your Saviour's cause; "Go, spread the myst'ry of his cross.
These weapons of the holy war, Of what almighty force they are, To make our stubborn passions bow, And lay the proudest rebel low.
Nations, the learned and the rude, Are by these heavenly arms subdued; While satan rages at his loss, And hates the doctrine of the cross.
Great King of grace! my heart subdue! I would be led in triumph too. A willing captive to my Lord, And sing the victories of his word.
_London, Published by R. Miller, Old Fish Street, Doctors Commons._
End of Project Gutenberg's Twenty Six Choice Poetical Extracts, by Various