If I am right, thy grace impart,
Still in the right to stay;
If I am wrong, oh teach my heart
To find that better way.

Save me alike from foolish pride,
Or impious discontent,
At aught thy wisdom has deny'd,
Or aught thy goodness lent.
Teach me to feel another's woe,
To hide the fault I see ;
That mercy I to others show,

That mercy show to me.
Mean tho' I am, not wholly so,
Since quicken'd by thy breath,
O lead me wheresoe'er I go,

Thro' this day's life, or death.
This day, be bread and peace my lot.
All else beneath the sun,
Thou know'st if best bestow'd or not;
And let thy will be done.

To Thee, whose temple is all space, Whose altar, earth, sea, skies! One chorus let all Being raise!

All Nature's incense rise!

§ 35. Messiah, a Sacred Eclogue. POPE. YE Nymphs of Solyma! begin the song; To heavenly themes sublimer strains belong. The mossy fountains and the sylvan shades, The dreams of Pindus and the Aonian maids, Delight no more. → O Thou my voice inspire, Who touch'd Isaiah's hallowed lips with fire!

--

Rapt into future times, the bard begun : A Virgin shall conceive, a Virgin bear a Son! From Jesse's root behold a branch arise, Whose sacred flow'r with fragrance fills the skies; Th'ethereal spirit o'er its leaves shall move; And on its top descends the mystic Dove. Ye heav'ns! from high the dewy nectar pour, And in soft silence shed the kindly show'r! The sick and weak the healing plant shall aid, From storms a shelter, and from heat a shade. All crimes shall cease, and antient fraud shall fail, Returning Justice lift aloft her scale; Peace o'er the world her olive wand extend, And white rob'd Innocence from heav'n descend. Swift fly the years, and rise th' expected morn! Oh spring to light auspicious Babe, be born! See Nature hastes her earliest wreaths to bring, With all the incense of the breathing spring: Sce lofty Lebanon his head advance, See nodding forests on the mountains dance; See spicy clouds from lowly Saron rise, And Carmel's flow'ry top perfumes the skies! Hark! a glad voice the lonely desert cheers; Prepare the way! a God, a God appears! A God, a God! the vocal hills reply: The rocks proclaim th' approaching Deity. Lo, earth receives him from the bending skies! Sink down, ye mountains, and, ye vallies, rise! With heads declin'd, ye cedars, homage pay; Be smooth, ye rocks; ye rapid floods, give way! The Saviour comes! by antient bards foretold; Hear him, ye deaf! and, all ye blind behold! He from thick film: shall purge the visual ray, And on the sightless eye-ball pour the day: 'Tis he th' obstructed paths of sound shall clear, And bid new music charn th' unfolding ear; The dumb shall sing, the lame his crutch forego, And leap exulting, like the bounding roe. No sigh, no murmur, the wide world shall hear : From ev'ry face he wipes off ev'ry tear. In adamantine chains shall death be bound, And hell's grin tyrant feel th' eternal wound. As the good shepherd tends his fleecy care, Seeks freshest pasture, and the purest air, Explores the lost, the wand'ring sheep directs, By day o'ersees them, and by night protects; The tender lambs he raises in his arms, Feeds from his hand, and in his bosom warms; Thus shall mankind his guardian care engage, The promis'd Father of the future age. No more shall nation against nation rise, Nor ardent war iors meet with hateful eyes, Nor fields with gleaming steel be cover'd o'er, The brazen trumpets kindle rage no more; But useless lances into scythes shall bend, And the broad faulchion in a plough-share end. Then

C 2

Then palaces shall rise: the joyful son
Shall finish what his short-liv'd sire begun
Their vines a shadow to their race shall yield,
And the same hand that sow'd, shall reap the field.
The swain in barren desarts, with surprise,
Sees lilies spring, and sudden verdure rise;
And starts, amidst the thirsty wilds to hear
New falls of water murmuring in his car.
On rifted rocks the dragon's late abodes,
The green reed trembies, and the bulrush nods,
Waste sandy valleys, once perplex'd with thorn,
The spiry fir and shapely box adorn :
To leafless shrubs the flow'ring palins succeed
And od rous myrtle to the not one weed. [mead,
The lambs with wolves shall graze the verdant
And boys in flow ry bands the tiger lead;
The steer and lion at one crib shall meet,
And harmless serpents lick the pilgrim's feet.
The smiling infant in his hand shall take
The crested basilisk and speckled snake,
Pleas'd the green lustre of their scales survey,
And with their forky tongue shall innocently play.
Rise, crown'd with light, imperial Salem, rise!
Exalt thy tow'ry head, and lift thy eyes;
See a long race thy spacious courts adorn;
See future sons and daughters, yet unborn,
In crowding ranks on ev'ry side arise,
Demanding life, impatient for the skies!
See barb'rous nations at thy gates attend,
Walk in thy light, and in thy temple bend ;
See thybright altars throng'd with prostratekings,
And heap'd with products of Sabean springs!
For thee Idume's spicy forests blow,
And seeds of gold in Ophir's mountains glow.
See heav'n its sparkling portals wide display,
And break upon thee in a flood of day.
No more the rising sun shall gild the morn,
Nor ev'ning Cynthia fill her silver horn,
But lost, dissolv'd in thy superior rays,
One tide of glory, one unclouded blaze,
O'erflow thy courts: the Light himself shallshine
Reveal'd, and God's eternal day be thine!
The seas shall waste, the skies in sinoke decay,
Rocks fall to dust, and mountains melt away;
But fix'd his word, his saving pow'r remains:
Thy realm for ever lasts, thy own Messiah reigns!

$36. The Prize of Virtue. Pope. WHAT nothing earthly gives or can destroy, The soul's calmn sunshine, and the heart-felt joy,

Rewards, that either would to Virtue bring
No joy, or be destructive of the thing:
How it by these at sixty are undone
The virtue's of a saint at twenty-one!

To whom can riches give repute or trust, Content, or pleasure, but the good and just? Judges and Senates have been bought for gold, Esteem and love were never to be sold.

Is Virtue's prize; a better would you fix?
Then give Humility a coach-and-six?
Justice a conqueror's sword, or Trath a gown,
Or Public Spirit its great cure, a crown.
Weak, foolish Man! will leav'n reward us there
With the same trash mad mortals wish for here?
The boy and inan an individual makes,
Yet sigh'st thou now for apples and for cakes?
Go, like the Indian, in another life
Expect thy dog, thy bottle, and thy wife!
As well as dream such trifles are assign'd,
As toys and empires for a godlike mind;

Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade,
Each in his narrow cell for ever laid,
Where heares the turf in many a mould'ring
[heap,

The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.
The breezy call of incensc-breathing morn, [shed,
The swallow twitt'ring from the straw-built
The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn,

No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. For them no more the blazing earth shall burn,

Or busy housewife ply her evening care. Nor children run to lisp their sire's return,

Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield;

Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke; How jocund did they drive their teams afield! How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke;

Let not ambition mock their useful toil,

Their homely joys and destiny obscure; Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile,

The short and simple annals of the poor. The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r,

And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Await, alike, th' inevitable hour;

The paths of glory lead but to the grave. Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault,

If mem'ry o'er their tomb no trophies raise. Where thro' the long-drawn isle and fretted vault, The pealing anthem swells the note of praise, Can storied urn, or animated bust,

Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? Can Honor's voice provoke the silent dust,

Or flatt'ry sooth the dull cold ear of death?

Perhaps

Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid

Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire: Hands, that the rod of empire might have sway'd, Or wak'd to extasy the living lyre.

But knowledge to their eyes her ample page, Rich with the spoils of Time, did ne'er unroll; Chill Penury repress'd their noble rage,

And froze the genial current of the soul.

Full many a gem of purest ray serene,
The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear;
Full many a flow'r is born to blush unseen.
And waste its sweetness on the des art air.
Some village-Hampden, that withdauntless breast
The little-tyrant of his fields withstood;
Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest:
Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood.
Th' applause of list'ning senates to command,
The threats of pain and ruin to despise,
To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land,

And read their hist'ry in a nation's eyes.
Their lot forbade : nor circumscrib'dalone [fin'd;
Their growing virtues, but their crimes con-
Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne,
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind;
The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide,
To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame,
Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride

With incense kindled at the Muse's flame. Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife, Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray; Along the cool sequester'd vale of life,

They kept the noiseless tenor of their way. Yet ev'n these bones from insult to protect, Some frail memorial still erected nigh, With uncouth rhimes and shapeless sculpture Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. [deck'd Their name, their years, spelt by th' unletter'd The place of fame and elegy supply: [muse, And many a holy text around she strews,

That teach the rustic moralist to die. For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey,

This pleasing anxious being e'er resign'd, Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, Nor cast one longing, ling'ting look behind? On some fond breast the parting soul relies,

Some pious drops the closing eye requires: Ev'n from the tomb, the voice of nature cries, Ev'n in our ashes live their wonted sires. For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonour'd dead, Dost in these lines their artless tale relate; If, chance, by lonely Contemplation led,

Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate. Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, "Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn, Brushing with hasty steps the dews away,

To meet the sun upon the upland lawn; There at the foot of yonder nodding beech, That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, His listless length at noon-tide would he stretch, And pore upon the brook that bubbles by.

Hard by yon wood, now smiling, as in scorn,

Matt'ring his wayward fancies, he would rove; Now drooping, woeful wan, like one forlorn,

Or craz'd with care, or cross'd in hopeless love: One morn I miss'd him on the custom'd hill,

Along the heath, and near his fav'rite tice: Another came; nor yet beside the rill,

Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he The next, with dirges due, in sad array, [borne: Slow thro' the church-yard path we saw him Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay, "Grav'd on the stone beneath yon aged thorn."

$ 38. Death. Dr. Porteus, Bp. of London. FRIEND to the wretch whom every friend forsakes,

I woo thee, Death! In fancy's fairy paths
Let the gay songster rove, and gently trill
The strain of empty joy. Life and its joys
I leave to those that prize them. At this hour,
This solemn hour, when silence rules the world,
And wearied nature makes a gen'ral pause;
Wrapt in night's sable robe, through cloysters
And charnels pale, tenanted by a throng [drear
Of meagre phantoms shooting cross my path
With silent glance, I seek the shadowy vale
Of Death. Deep in a murky cave's recess,
Lav'd by oblivion's listless stream, and fenc'd
By shelving rocks, and intermingled horrors
Of yew and cypress shade, from all intrusion
Of busy noontide beam, the Monarch sits
In unsubstantial majesty enthron'd.
At his right hand, nearest himself in place
And frightfulness of form his parent Sin
With fatal industry and cruel care
Busies herself in pointing all his strings,
And tipping every shaft with venom drawn
From her infernal store: around him rang'd
In terrible array, and mixture strange
Of uncouth shapes, stand his dread Ministers.
Foremost Old Age, his natural ally
And firmest friend: next him Diseases thick,
A motley train; Fever, with check of fire;
Consumption wan; Palsy, half warm with life,
And half a clay-clod lump; joint-tort'ring Gout,
And ever-gnawing Rheum; Convulsion wild ;
Swoln Dropsy; panting Asthma; Apoplex
Full-gorg'd. There too the Pestilence that walks
In darkness, and the Sickness that destroys