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Thus Adam smil'd with new-born grace,

Life's flame inspir'd by heav'nly birth : Thus the same breath sweeps off his race, Disorders Nature's beauteous face,

And spreads disease and death.

Stripp'd of her pride the vessel rolls,

And as by sympathy she knew
The secret anguish of our souls,
With inward deeper groans condoles

The danger of her crew.

Now what avails it to be brave,

On liquid precipices hung ? Suspended on a breaking wave, Beneath us yawn'd a sea-green grave,

And silenc'd every tongue.

The faithless food forsook her keel,

And downward launch'd the lab'ring hull, Stunn'd, she forgot awhile to reel, And felt almost, or seem'd to feel,

A momentary lull.

Thus in the jaws of death we lay,

Nor light, nor comfort found us there,
Lost in the gulf and floods of spray,
No sun to cheer us, nor a ray

Of hope, but all despair.

The nearer shore, the more despair,

While certain ruin waits on land ! Should we pursue our wishes there, Soon we recant the fatal pray's,

And strive to shun the strand.

At length the Being whose behest

Reduc'd his chaos into form, His goodness and his pow'r express’d, He spoke--and as a God suppress'd

Our troubles, and the storm.

BELSH AZZA R.

(BYRON.]
The king was on his throne

The satraps thronged the hall;
A thousand bright lamps shone

O'er that high festival.
A thousand cups of gold,

In Judah deemed divine
Jehovah's vessels hold

The godless heathen's wine.
In that same hour and hall

The fingers of a hand
Came forth against the wall,

And wrote as if on sand :
The fingers of a man ;

A solitary hand
Along the letters ran,

And traced them like a wand.
The monarch saw and shook,

And bade no more rejoice ;
All bloodless waxed his look,

And tremulous his voice.
• Let the men of lore appear,

The wisest of the earth,
And expound the words of fear,

Which mar our royal mirth.'

Chaldea's seers are good,

But here they have no skill;
And the unknown letters stood

Untold and awful still.
And Babel's men of age

Are wise and deep in lore,
But now they were not sage,

They saw-but knew no more.
A captive in the land,

A stranger and a youth,
He heard the king's command,

He saw that writing's truth.
The lamps around were bright,

The prophecy in view;
He read it on that night,-

The morrow proved it true.
• Belshazzar's grave is made,

His kingdom passed away,
He, in the balance weighed,

Is light and worthless clay.
The shroud, his robe of state,

His canopy the stone ;
The Mede is at his gate !

The Persian on his throne !'

ON RECOVERING FROM ILLNESS.

[DODDRIDGE.]
My God, thy service well demands

The remnant of my days :
Why was the fleeting breath renew'd,

But to renew thy praise?

Thine arms of everlasting love,

Did this weak frame sustain ;
When life in purple torrents flow'd

From every sinking vein.
Calmly I bow'd my fainting head

On thy dear faithful breast,
Pleas’d to obey my Father's call

To his eternal rest.
Back from the borders of the grave

At thy command I come :
Nor would I urge a speedier flight
- To my celestial home.
Where thou appointest my abode,

There would I choose to be :
For in thy presence death is life,

And earth is heaven with thee.

HYMN OF PRAISE.

[PEARSALL.) My great Preserver! to thy gracious hand

My life and safety, and my all, I owe : New gratitude thy favours still command,

And still my num’rous obligations grow. Oft hast thou listen’d to my humble pray'r,

Oft at my cry unwearied mercy came: O be thy goodness, thy indulgent care,

My constant refuge, my delightful theme ! When warm'd with grateful love to thee, my Lord,

My thoughts begin to count thy favours o'er. The boundless sum what numbers can record ?

How vain th' attempt! Astonish'd, I adore !

Yet I may love thee: this is thy command

Thy kind command, and kindly now made known; My pow'r and passions too are in thy hand

Lord, mould and form them for thy use alone! This worthless heart to thee I would resign;

Poor as it is, thy sovereign hand can raise A monument to thee-enrich, refine,

And there inscribe thy mercies and thy praise. Thy wondrous praise not all creation's tongues,

In one harmonious concert can display; Not the celestial choir's enraptur'd songs,

Through vast eternity's unbounded day. And shall a reptile of the earth aspire

To join with angels in their high employ? Lord, at thy feet I lay my trembling lyre

In silent awe, yet mix'd with humble joy. Yet if thou bid me try the heav'nly theme,

And bless me with thy smile, my lyre again On ev'ry string shall sound thy glorious name,

Thy smile shall animate the feeble frame. If thou accept and aid my wish to praise,

Then shall my heart with glad devotion sing; But ah, how mean the gift! her sweetest lays

To thee, my gracious God, my glorious King ! All I enjoy, and all I hope, is thine

Unworthiness alone belongs to me: Inspire me, O my God, with love divine,

And make my life a hymn of praise to thee.

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