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THY judgments, Lord, are just ; thou lov'st to wear

The face of pity, and of love divine ;
But mine is guilt-thou must not, can’st not, spare,

While Heaven is true, and equity is thine.
Yes, oh, my God !-such crimes as mine, so dread,

Leave but the choice of punishment to thee;
Thy interest calls for judgment on my head,

And even thy mercy dares not plead for me! Thy will be done-since 'tis thy glory's due, Did from mine

eyes

the endless torrents flow; Smite-it is time-though endless death ensue,

I bless the avenging hand that lays me low. But on what spot shall fall thine anger's flood, That has not first been drench'd in Christ's atoning blood ?

POEMS

OF A LATER DATE.

VOL. II.

I

TO A FRIEND IN DISTRESS,

Who, when Henry reasoned with him calmly, asked,

If he did not feel for him.

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Do I not feel!The doubt is keen as steel.
Yea, I do feel-most exquisitely feel;
My heart can weep, when from my downcast eye
I chase the tear, and stem the risiog sigh:
Deep buried there I close the rankling dart,
And smile the most when heaviest is

my

heart.
On this I act--whatever pangs surround,
'Tis magnanimity to hide the wound.
When all was new, and life was in its spring,
I liv'd an unlov'd solitary thing;
Even then I learnt to bury deep from day,
The piercing cares that wore my youth away.
Even then I learnt for others' cares to feel,
Even then I wept I had not power to heal;
Even then, deep-sounding through the nightly gloom,
I heard the wretched's groan, and mourn’d the wretched's

doom.
Who were my friends in youth ?—The midnight fire
The silent moon beam, or the starry choir;
To these I ’plain’d, or turn’d from outer sight,
To bless my lonely taper's friendly light;

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