If, wounded with the sense of fin,
To them for pardon we should pray,
Will they restore our peace within,
And wash our guilty ftains away?
Can they celeftial life inspire,

Nature with pow'r divine renew,
With pure and facred tranfports fire

Our bofoms, and our lufts fubdue ? When with the pangs of death we strive, And yield all comforts here for loft, Will they fupport us, will they give Kind fuccour, when we need it most ? When at th' Almighty's awful bar

To hear our final doom we stand,.. Can they incline the Judge to fpare,

Or wreft the vengeance from his hand ? Can they protect us from defpair,

From the dark reign of death and hell, Crown us with bliss, and throne us where The juft, in joys immortal dwell?

Sinners, your idols we defpife,

If these reliefs they cannot grant; Why fhould we fuch delufions prize, And pine in everlasting want?

N vain my roving thoughts would find
A portion worthy of the mind;

On earth my foul can never reft,
For earth can never make me bleft.

T

Can lafting happiness he found
Where seasons roll their hafty round,
And days and hours, with rapid flight,
Sweep cares and pleasures out of fight?
Arife my thoughts, my heart arise,
Leave this low world and feek the skies;
There joys for ever, ever last,

When feafons, days and hours are paft.
Come, Lord, thy pow'rful grace impart,
Thy grace can raife my wand'ring heart
To pleasures, perfect and fublime,
Unmeafur'd by the wings of time.

Let thofe bright worlds of endless joy,
My thoughts, my hopes, my cares employ;
No more, ye reftlefs paffions, roam,
God is my blifs, and heav'n my home.

330. C. M.

Erring World, &c.

N vain the erring world enquires

IN

For fome fubftantial good;

While earth confines their low defires,

They live on airy food.

Illufive dreams of happiness

Their eager thoughts employ ;

They wake, convinc'd their boafted blifs

Was vifionary joy.

Be gone, ye gilded vanities;
I feek fome folid good;)

To real blifs my wishes rise,
The favor of my God.

Immortal joy thy fmiles impart,
Heav'n dawns in ev'ry ray;

One glimpse of thee will cheer my heart,
And turn my night to day.

Not all the good, which earth bestows,
Can fill the craving mind:
Its higheft joys have mingl'd woes,
And leave a fting behind,

Should boundless wealth increase my store,
Can wealth my cares beguile?
I should be wretched ftill, and poor,
Without thy blissful smile,

Grant, O my God, this one requeft;
Oh, be thy love alone

My ample portion—here I rest,
For heav'n is in the boon.

WICKED MEN.*

331. C. M. WATTS'S P. The Wicked Man ; or, Pride and Death.

WHY doth the man of riches grow
To infolence and pride,

WHY

To fee his wealth and honors flow

With ev'ry rifing tide?

Why doth he treat the poor with scorn,
Made of the felf-fame clay,

And boaft as tho' his flesh was born

Of better duft than they?

*See 391. 408. foot

Not all his treafures can procure
His foul a fhort reprieve,
Redeem from death one guilty hour,
Or make his brother live.

Life is a blefling can't be fold,
The ranfom is too high;
Juftice will ne'er be brib'd by gold,
That man may never die.

He fees the brutish and the wife,
The tim'rous and the brave,

Quit their poffeflions, clofe their eyes,
And haften to the

grave.

Yet 'tis his inward thought and pride, "My house fhall ever stand : "And that my name may long abide, "I'll give it to my land."

Vain are his thoughts, his hopes are loft, How foon his memory dies!

His name is written in the duft

Where his own carcafe lies.

332.

S. M.

HOSKINS.

The Hypocrite.

ET hypocrites attend,

Land view their awful state;

Confider well their latter end,
Before it be too late.

Religion's form how vain,
Whilft we deny its pow'r!
What will the bypocrite obtain,
In death's tremendous hour?

Now he may credit gain,
And in bis thousands roll;
But all his profit will be pain,
When God fhall take his foul.

Then, O what dread surprise,
What horror and difmay;
When death shall open wide his
And tear his mask away !

eyes,

Lord, fearch, and know my heart,
And make my foul fincere ;

Bid all hypocrify depart,

And keep my conscience clear,

333.

TH

Chrift and bis Church.

HE King of faints, how fair his face,
Adorn'd with majefty and grace!

He comes with bleffings from above,
And wins the nations by his love.

At his right hand our eyes behold
The Queen array'd in pureft gold:
Angels admire her heav'nly dress,
Her robe of perfect righteousness.

He forms her beauties like his own;
He calls and feats her near his throne:
Fair ftranger, let thine heart forget
The idols of thy native state.