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ON ETERNITY.

WHAT is Eternity? can aught
Paint its duration to the thought?
Tell ev'ry beam the fun emits,
When in fublimeft noon he fits ;
Tell ev'ry light-wing'd mote that strays
Within its ample round of rays;
Tell all the leaves and all the buds,
That crown the garden, fields, and woods;
Tell all the fpires of grafs the meads
Produce, when Spring propitious leads
The new-born year; tell all the drops
That night, upon their bended tops,
Sheds in foft filence, to display
Their beauties with the rifing day;
Tell all the fand the ocean laves,
Tell all its changes, all its waves ;
Or tell with more laborious pains,
The drops its mighty mafs contains ;
Be this aftonishing account
Augmented with the full amount
Of all the drops the clouds have shed,
Where'er their watʼry fleeces fpread,

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Thro' all time's long protracted tour,
From Adam to the present hour;
Still fhort the fum, nor can it vie

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With the more num'rous years that lie
Embofom'd in Eternity.

Was there a belt that could contain
In its vaft orb the earth and main ;
With figures was it cluster'd o'er,
Without one cypher in the score;
And would your lab'ring thought affign
The total of the crowded line;

How fcant th' amount! th' attempt how

vain!

To reach Duration's endless chain!

For when as many years are run,
Unbounded age is but begun.
Attend, O man, with awe divine,
For this Eternity is thine!

GIBBONS.

CHARITY.

DID sweeter founds adorn my flowing tongue, Than ever man pronounc'd, or angels fung; Had I all knowledge, human and divine, That thought can reach, or fcience can define; And had I power to give that knowledge birth, In all the speeches of the babbling earth: Did Shadrach's zeal my glowing breast inspire, To weary tortures, and rejoice in fire; Or had I faith, like that which Ifrael faw, When Mofes gave them miracles and law: Yet gracious Charity! indulgent guest, Were not thy power exerted in my breast, Thofe fpeeches would fend up unheeded prayer; That fcorn of life would be but wild despair; A tymbal's found were better than my voice ;My faith were form, my eloquence were noife.

Charity, decent, modeft, eafy, kind,

Softens the high, and rears the abject mind.
Knows with juft reins and gentle hand to guide
Betwixt vile Shame and arbitrary Pride.
Not foon provok'd, fhe eafily forgives;

And much the fuffers, as the much believes.

Soft

peace The brings wherever the arrives; She builds our quiet, as she forms our lives ;

Lays the rough paths of peevish Nature even,
And opens in each heart a little heaven. -

Each other gift, which God on Man bestows,
Its proper bound and due restri&tion knows ;
To one fix'd purpose dedicates its power,
And, finishing its act, exists no more.

Thus, in obedience to what Heaven decrees,
Knowledge fhall fail, and prophecy fhall cease;
But lafting Charity's more ample sway,
Nor bound by time, nor fubject to decay,
In happy triumph fhall for ever live,

And endless good diffuse, and endless praise receive.

As thro' the artist's intervening glass, Our eye obferves the diftant planets pass, A little we difcover, but allow

That more remains unfeen, than art can fhow;

So, whilst our mind its knowledge would improve,

(its feeble eye intent on things above),

High as we may, we lift our reason up,
By Faith directed, and confirm'd by Hope;

Yet we are able only to furvey

Dawning of beams, and promises of day.

Heaven's fuller effluence mocks our dazzled fight;
Too great its swiftnefs, and too strong its light.
But foon the mediate clouds fhall be difpell'd;
The fun fhall foon be face to face beheld,
In all his robes, with all his glory on,
Seated fublime on his meridian throne.

Then conftant Faith and holy Hope shall die,
One loft in certainty, and one in joy :
Whilft thou, more happy power, fair Charity,
Triumphant fifter, greatest of the three,

Thy office and thy nature still the fame,
Lafting thy lamp, and unconfum'd thy flame,
Shalt ftill furvive-

Shalt ftand before the Hoff of Heaven confeft,
For ever bleffing, and for ever bleft.

PRIOR.

THE PRIZE OF VIRTUE.

WHAT nothing earthly gives or can destroy,
The foul's calm fun-fhine, and the heart-felt joy,
Is Virtue's prize a better would you fix?
Then give Humility a coach-and-fix?

Juftice a conqu'ror's fword, or Truth a gown,
Or Public Spirit its great cure, a crown.

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