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When the pale desart mark'd his proud array,
And Desolation hop'd an ampler (way;
What hero then triumphant Gaul dismay'd ?
What arm repell’d the victor renegade?
Britannia's Champion !- bath'd in hoftile blood,
High on the beech the dauntless SEAMAN ftood :
Admiring. A fia saw the unequal fight;
E’en the pale crescent bless'd the Chriftian's might.
Oh day of death! oh thirst, beyond controul,
Of crimson conqueft in th’ Invader's soul !
The Nain, yet warm, by social footsteps trod,
O'er the red moat supply'd a panting road;
O'er the red moat our conquering thunders flew,
And loftier ftill the grisly rampire grew.
While proudly glow'd above the rescu'd tower
The wavy cross that mark'd Britannia's power.
Yet ftill Destruction sweeps the lonely plain,
And heroes lift the generous fword in vain.
Still o'er her sky the clouds of anger roll,
And God's revenge hangs heavy on her soul.
Yet shall the rise ; but not by war restor'd,
Nor built in murder, planted by the sword.
Yes, Salem, thou shalt rife: thy Father's aid
Shall heal the wound His chastening hand has made;
Shall judge the proud oppressor's ruthless sway,
And burst his brazen bonds, and cast his cords away.
Then on your tops shall deathless verdure spring ;
Break forth, ye mountains ! and ye yallies, fing!
No more your thirsty rocks shall frown forlorn,
The unbeliever's jest, the heathen's scorn ;
The sultry fands shall ten-fold harvests yield,
And a new Eden deck the thorny field.
E'en now, perhaps, wide waving o'er the land,
The mighty angel lifts his golden wand; (1)
Courts the bright vision of descending pow'r, (2)
Tells every gate, and measures every tower;
And chides the tardy feals that yet detain
Thy Lion, Judah, from his destin'd reign.
And who is He? the valt, the awful form, (3)
Girt with the whirlwind, fandal'd with the storm ?
A western cloud around his limbs is spread,
His crown a rainbow, and a fun his head.
To highest heaven he lifts his kingly hand,
And treads at once the ocean and the land :
And hark! His voice amid the thunder's roar,
His dreadful voice that time shall be no more !
Lo! cherub-hands the golden courte prepare ;
Lo! thrones are set, and every saint is there ;
Earth's utmost bounds confess their awful sway,
The mountains worship, and the isles obey ;
Nor fun nor moon they need, nor day nor night; (4)
God is their temple, and the Lamb their light.
And hall not lsrael's sons exulting come,
Hail the glad beam, and claim their ancient home?
On David's throne shall David's offspring reign,
And the dry bones be warm with life again.
Hark! white-rob'd crowds their deep hosannas raise,
And the hoarse flood repeats the found of praise ;
Ten thousand harpe attune the mystic song,
Ten thousand thousand saints the train prolong;
$6 Worthy the Lamb ! omnipotent to save!
“ Who dy'd, who lives, triumphant o'er the grave!"
Pity the sorrows of a poor old man,
Whose trembling limbs have borne hiin to your door, Whose days are dwindled to the shortest span ;
Oh, give relief, and Heaven will bless your store! These tatter'd clothes my powerty helpeak,
These hoary locks proclaim my lengthen’d years; And many a furrow in iny grief-worn cheek
Has been the channel to a flood of tears. Yon honfe, erected on the rising ground,
With tempting aspect drew me from my road; For Plenty there a residence has found,
And Grandeur a niaynificent abode.
Hard is the fate of the infirm and poor !
Here, as I crav'd a mortel of their bread,
A pamper'd menial drove me from the door,
To seek a thelter in a humbler lhed.
Oh, take me to your hospitable dome!
Keen blow's the wind, and piercing is the cold ! Short is my passage to the friendly tomb,
For I am poor and milerably old. Should I reveal the sources of my grief,
If soft humanity e'er touch'd your breast, Your liands would not withhold the kind relief,
And tears of pity would not be repress’d.
Heaven sends misfortunes; why should we repine ?
'Tis Heaven has brought me to the state you see ; And your condition may be soon like mine,
The Child of Sorrow and of Misery. A little farm was my paternal lot,
Then, like the lark, I sprightly haild the morn; But, ah! Oppression forc'd me from my cot;
My cattle died, and blighted was my corn. .. My daughter, once the comfort of my age,
Lurd by a villain from her native home, Is cast abandon'd on the world's wide stage,
And doom'd in scanty poverty to roam. My tender wife, sweet foother of my care !
Struck with fad anguish at the stern decree, Fell, ling’ring fell, a victim to despair,
And left the world to wretchedness and me." Pity the sorrows of a poor old man,
Whose trembling limbs liave borne him to your door, Whose days are dwindled to the shortest span!
Oh, give relief, and heaven will bless your store !
FRIEND to the wretch whose bosom knows no joy!
Parent of bliss, beyond the reach of fate!
Celestial Hope! thon gift divine !
Sweet balm of grief! O fill be mine!
When pains torment and cares annoy,
Thou only canft their force abate,
And gild the gloom which shades this mortal state.
Though oft thy joys are false and vain,
Thongh anxious doubts attend thy train,
Though disappointment mock thy care,
And point the way to fell despair,
Yet still my secret soul shall own thy pow'r,
In forrow's bitterest pang, in pleasure's gayest hour.
For from the date of Reason's birth
That wond'rous power was given,
To soften every grief on earth,
To raise the soul from thoughtless mirth,
And wing its flight to heav'n.
Nor pain nor pleasure can its force destroy,
In every varied scene it points to future joy.
Fancy, wave thy airy pinions,
Bid the soft ideas rise,
Spread o'er all thy wide dominions
Vernal sweets and cloudless skies,
And lo! on yonder verdant plain,
A lovely youthful Train appear,
Their gentle hearts have felt no pain,
Their guiltless bosoms know no fear :
In cach gay scene some new delight they find,
Yet fancy gayer prospects still behind.
Where are the soft delusions fled ?
Must Wisdom teach the soul to mourn ?
Return, ye days of ignorance, return!
Before my eyes your fairy vifions spread!