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Yet fall Jehovah's servants ftand secure,
His mercy fix'd, eternal faall endure;
On them her ever-healing ray's shall shine ;
More mild, and bright, and fure, O fun! than thine.

At length, the long-expected prince behold,
The last good king; in ancient days foretold,
When Bethel's altar spoke his future fame,
Rent to its base, at good Josiah's name.
Bieli, happy prince! o'er whose lamented urn,
In plaintive song, all Judah's daughters mourn ;
For whom fad Sion's softest sorrow flows,
And Jeremiah pours his sweet melodious woes.

But now fall’n Sion, once the fair and great,
Sits deep in dust, abandon’d, desolate;
Bleeds her sad heart, and ever ftream her eyes,
And anguith tears her with convulsive fighs.
The mournful captive spreads her hands in vain,
Her hands, that rankle with the servile chain ;
Till he, Great Chief ! $ in Heav'n's appointed time,
Leads back her children to their native clime.
Fair Liberty revives with all her joys,
And bids her envy'd walls fecurely rise.
And thou, great hallow'd dome, in ruin spread,
Again fhall lift sublime thy facred head.
But ah ! with weeping eyes, the ancients view
A faint resemblance of the old in you.
No more th' effulgent glory of thy God
Speaks awful answers from the mystic cloud:
No more thine altars blaze with fire divine, ,
Aud Heav'n has left thy folitary fhrine.

Zorobabel.

Yet, in thy courts hereafter shalt thou see
Presence immediate of the Deity,

(thee. · The Light himself reveald, the God confess'd in )

And now at length the fated term of years
The world's desire have brought, and lo! the God apo

pears.
The Heav'nly Babe the Virgin Mother bears,
And her fond looks confess the parent's cares ;
The pleasing burden on her breasts me lays,
Hangs o'er his charms, and with a smile surveys.
The Infant smiles, to her fond bosom prest,
And wantons sportive on the mother's breast.
A radiant glory speaks him all Divine,
And in the Child the beams of Godhead shine.

But now, alas ! far other views disclose
The blackest comprehensive scene of woes.
See where man's voluntary facrifice
Bows his meek head, and God eternal dies !
Fixt to the cross his healing arms are bound,
While copious mercy streams from ev'ry wound.
Mark the blood-drops that life-exhausting roll,
And the strong pang that rends the stubborn foul )
As all Death's tortures, with severe delay,
Exult and riot in the noblest prey :
And canst thou, stupid man, those sorrows see,
Nor share the anguilh which he bears for theed
Thy fin, for which his facred flesh is torn,
Points ev'ry nail, and Sharpens ev'ry thorn ;
Canft thou? while nature smarts in ev'ry wound,
And each pang cleaves the sympathetic ground !
Lo! the black sun, his chariot backward driv'p,
Blots out the day, and perishes from heav'a':

Earth, trembling from her entrails, bears a part,
And the rent rock upbraids man's stubborn heart.

The yawning grave reveals his gloomy reign,
And the cold clay-clad dead start into life again.

And thou, O Tomb, once more shalt wide display · Thy satiate jaws, and give up all thy prey.

Thon, groaning Earth, shalt heave, absorpt in flame,
As the last pangs convulse thy lab’ring frame;
When the same God, unshrouded shalt thou see,
Wrapt in full blaze of pow'r and majesty,
Ride on the clouds ; whillt, as his chariot fies,
The bright effufion fireams through all the skies.
Then shall the proud diffolving mountains glow,
And yielding rocks in fiery rivers flow :
The molten deluge round the globe shall roar,
And all man's arts and labonr be no more.
Then shall the splendors of th' enliven'd glass
Sink undistinguish'd in the burning mass.
And O! till earth, and seas, and heav'n decay,
Ne'er may that fair creation fade away;
May winds and storms those beauteous colours sparc,
Still may they bloom as permanent as fair;
All the vain rage of wasting time repel,
And His tribunal fee, whose cross they paint so well!

T. WARTON. ;

THE HAMLET.

WRITTEN IN WHICHWOOD FOREST

THE hinds how blest, who ne'er beguild
To quit their hamlet's hawthorn-wild;
Nor haunt the crow'd, nor tempt the main,
For splendid care and guilty gain!

When morning's twilight-linctur'd beam
Strikes their low thatch with Nanting gleam,
They rove abroad in æther blue,
To dip the ithe in fragrant dew :
The Theaf to bind, the beech to fell,
That nodding shades a craggy dell,

Midit gloomy glades, in warbles clear,
Wild Nature's sweeteti notes they hear:
On green untrodden banks they view
The hyacinth's neglected hue :
In their lone haunts, and woodland rounds,
They spy the squirrel's airy bounds :
And startle from her afhen spray,
Across the glen, the screaming jay:
Each native charm their steps explore
Of Solitude's fequester'd store."

For them the moon, with cloudless ray, Mounts, to illume their homeward way :

Their weary spirits to relieve,
The meadows incense breathe at eve:
No riot mars the simple fare
That o'er a glimmering hearth they share :
But when the curfeu's measur'd roar
Duly, the darkening vallies o'er, <
Has echoed from the distant town,
They with no beds of cygnet-down,
No trophied canopy to close
Their drooping eyes in quick repose.

Their little fons, who spread the bloom
Of health around the clay-built room,
Or through the primros'd coppice stray,
Or gambol in the new-mown hay;
Or quaintly braid the cowslip twine,
Or drive afield the tardy kine;
Or haften from the sultry hill
To loiter at the shady rill ;
Or climb the tall pine's gloomy crest
To rob the raven's ancient nest,

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Their humble porch with honied flowers The curling woodbine's fhade embowers : From the trim garden's thymy mound Their bees in busy swarms resound: Nor fell Disease, before his time, Hastes to consume life's golden prime: But when their temples long have wore The filver crown of tresses hoar ; As studious still calm peace to keep, Beneath a Powery turf they deep,

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