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Perhaps, the Christian Volume is the theme,
How guiltless blood for guilty man was fhed;
How he who bore in heav’n the second name,
Had not on earth, whereon to lay his head.
How his first followers and servants sped ;
The precepts sage they wrote to many a land ;
How he who lone in Patmos banished,
Saw in the sun a mighty angel ftand:
And heard Great Babylon's doom pronounced by Heaver's
Then kneeling down to Heav'N'S ETERNAL Kine,
The Saint, the Father, and the Husband prays:
Hope fprings cxulling on triumphant wing,
That thus they all shall meet in future days;
There, ever balk in uncreated rays, :
No more to figh or shed the bitter tear ;
Together hymning their Creator's praise,
In such society, yet still more dear :
While circling time moves round in an eternal sphere.
Compared with this how poor religion's pride,
In all the pomp of method, and of art
When men display. to congregations wide,
Devotion's ev'ry grace, except the heart !
The Power incensed the pageant will desert,
The pompous train, the facerdotal flole,
But haply in some cottage far apart,
May hear well pleased the language of the soul ;
And in his Buok of Life the inmates poor enroll.
Then homeward all take off their their several way;
The youngling cottagers retire to rest,
The parent pair their secret homage pays,
And proffer up to Heav'n the warm request,
That He who fills the raven's clam'rous nell,
And decks the lily fair in flow'ry pride,
Would in the way his wisdom sees the best,
For them, and for their little ones, provide,
Buy chiefly in their hearts with grace divine re side.
From scenes like these old, Scotia’s grandeur springs,
That makes her loved at home, rever'd abroad ;
Princes and lords are but the breath of kings,
66 An honeft man's the nobleft work of God!".
And certes in fair Virtue's heav'nly road
The cottage leaves the palace far behind;
What is a lordling's pomp? a cumb'rous load,
Disguising oft the wretch of human kind,
Studied in arts of hell, in wickedness refined.
O Scotia ! my dear, my native foil !
For whom my warmeft wish to Heav'n is sent!
Long may thy hardy fons of rustic toil,
Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet content
And, O! may Heav'n their simple lives prevent.
From luxury's contagion, weak and vile !
Then, howe'er crowns aud coronets be rent,
A virtuous populace may rise the while
i virs 1,484 And stand a wall of fire around their much-loved ille. velikog
O thou! who pour'd the patriotic tide,
That streamed thro' IVallace's undaunted heart:
Who dared to nobly stem tyrannic pride,
Or nobly die, the fecond glorious part,
(The patriot's God, peculiarly thou art,
His friend, inspirer, guardian, and reward !)
O never, never, Scotia’s realm desert,
But fill the Patriot, and the Patriot Bard,
In bright succession raise, her ornament and guard !
The Modern Courticr. PRAY
RAY say what's that which smirking trips this way.
That powder'd thing, so neat, so trim, fo gay? Adorn’d with tambour'd vest, and spangled sword, That supple fervile thing?-O! that's a Lord ! You jeft—that thing a Peer? an English Peer ? Who ought (with head, estate, and conscience clear) Either in grave debate, or hardy fight, Firmly maintain a free-born people's rigke: Surely those lords were of another breed Who met their monarch John at Runnemede ; And, clad in feel, there in a glorious hour Made the curit ty rant feel the people's pow'r; Made him confess, beneath that awful rod, Their voice united is the voice of God.
The Pathetic farewell of Leonidas, to his Wife and Family.
Published by J.Roach' Woburn Street New Drury Theatre Revat May 1.1795