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Now let the bright reverse be known abroad; These are thy glorious works, eternal Truth,
Say man's a worm, and power belongs to God. The scoff of withered age and beardless youth;

As when a felon, whom his country's laws These move the censure and illiberal grin
Have justly doomed for some atrocious cause, Of fools, that hate thee and delight in sin:
Expects in darkness and heart-chilling fears, But these shall last when night has quenched the
The shameful close of all his mispent years;

pole,
If chance, on heavy pinions slowly borne, And Heaven is all departed as a scroll;
A tempest usher in the dreaded morn,

And when, as Justice has long since decreed,
Upon his dungeon walls the lightning play, This earth shall blaze, and a new world succeed,
The thunder seems to summon him away, Then these thy glorious works, and they who
The warder at the door his key applies,

share
Shoots back the bolt, and all his courage dies: That hope which can alone exclude despair,
If then, just then, all thoughts of mercy lost, Shall live exempt from weakness and decay,
When hope, long lingering, at last yields the ghost, The brightest wonders of an endless day.
The sound of pardon pierce his startled ear,
He drops at once his fetters and his fear;

Happy the bard, (if that fair name belong
A transport glows in all he looks and speaks, To him, that blends no fable with his song)
And the first thankful tears bedew his cheeks. Whose lines uniting, by an honest art,
Joy, far superior joy, that much outweighs The faithful monitors and poet's part,
The comfort of a few poor added days,

Seek to delight, that they may mend mankind,
Invades, possesses, and o'erwhelms the soul And, while they captivate, inform the mind:
Of him, whom Hope has with a touch made whole. Still happier, if he till a thankful soil,
'Tis Heaven, all Heaven descending on the wings And fruit reward his honourable toil:
Of the glad legions of the King of kings; But happier far, who comfort those, that wait
'Tis more—'tis God diffused through every part, To hear plain truth at Judah's hallowed gate:
'Tis God himself triumphant in his heart. Their language simple, as their manners meek,
O welcome now the sun's once hated light, No shining ornaments have they to seek;
His noonday beams were never half so bright. Nor labour they, nor time nor talents waste,
Not kindred minds alone are called t' employ In sorting flowers to suit a fickle taste;
Their hours, their days, in listening to his joy; But while they speak the wisdom of the skics,
Unconscious nature, all that he surveys,

Which art can only darken and disguise, Rocks, groves, and streams, must join him in his Th’ abundant harvest, recompense divine, praise.

Repays their work—the gleaning only mine.

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Charity.

Quo nihil majus meliugve terris

Fata donavere, bonique divi:
Nec dabunt, quamvis redeant in aurum

Tempora priscum. Hor. Lib. iv. Ode 2.

FAIREst and foremost of the train, that wait He made at first, though free and unconfined, On man's most dignified and happiest state, One man the common father of the kind; Whether we name thee charity or love,

That every tribe, though placed as he sees best
Chief grace below, and all in all above,

Where seas or deserts part them from the rest,
Prosper (I press thee with a powerful plea) Differing in language, manners, or in face,
A task I venture on, impelled by thee;

Might feel themselves allied to all the race.
O never seen but in thy blest effects,

When Cook-lamented, and with tears as just
Or felt but in the soul that heaven selects; As ever mingled with heroic dust, -
Who seeks to praise thee, and to make thee known Steered Britain's oak into a world unknown,
To other hearts, must have thce in his own. And in his country's glory sought his own,
Come, prompt me with benevolent desires, Wherever he found man, to nature true,
Teach me to kindle at thy gentle fires,

The rights of man were sacred in his view;
And, though disgraced and slighted, to redeem He soothed with gifts, and greeted with a smile,
A poet's name, by making thee the theme.

The simple native of the new-found isle; God, working ever on a social plan,

He spurned the wretch, that slighted or withstood By various ties attaches man to man:

The tender argument of kindred blood,

Nor would endure, that any should control No land but listens to the common call,
His freeborn brethren of the southern pole. And in return receives supply from all.

But though some nobler minds a law respect, This genial intercourse, and mutual aid,
That none shall with impunity neglect,

Cheers what were else a universal shade, In baser souls unnumbered evils meet,

Calls Nature from her ivy-mantled den,
To thwart its influence, and its end defeat. And softens human rock-work into men
While Cook is loved for savage lives he saved, Ingenious Art, with her expressive face,
See Cortez odious for a world enslaved!

Steps forth to fashion and refine the race;
Where wast thou then, sweet Charity? where then, Not only fills Necessity's demand,
Thou tutelary friend of helpless men ?

But overcharges her capacious hand:
Wast thou in monkish cells and nunneries found, Capricious Taste itself can crave no more,
Or building hospitals on English ground? Than she supplies from her abounding store;
No.-Mammon makes the world his legatee She strikes out all that luxury can ask,
Through fear, not love; and Heaven abhors the And gains new vigour at her endless task.
fee,

Hers is the spacious arch, the shapely spire, Wherever found, (and all men need thy care,) The painter's pencil, and the poet's lyre; Nor age nor infancy could find thee there. From her the canvass borrows light and shade, The hand, that slew till it could slay no more, And verse, more lasting, hues that never fade. Was glued to the sword hilt with Indian gore, She guides the fingers o'er the dancing keys, Their prince, as justly seated on his throne Gives difficulty all the grace of ease, As vain imperial Philip on his own.

And pours a torrent of sweet notes around, Tricked out of all his royalty by art,

Fast as the thirsting ear can drink the sound. That stripped him bare, and broke his honest heart,

These are the gifts of Art, and Art thrives most Died by the sentence of a shaven priest,

Where commerce has enriched the busy coast; For scorning what they taught him to detest.

He catches all improvements in his flight, How dark the veil, that intercepts the blaze

Spreads foreign wonders in his country's sight, of Heaven's mysterious purposes and ways; God stood not, though he seemed to stand, aloof; And stirs his own to match them, or excel.

Imports what others have invented well,
And at this hour the conqueror feels the proof:
The wreath he won drew down an instant curse, Alternately the nations learn and teach;

'Tis thus reciprocating, each with each, The fretting plague is in the public purse,

While Providence enjoins to every soul
The cankered spoil corrodes the pining state,

A union with the vast terraqueous whole.
Starved by that indolence their mines create.
O could their ancient Incas rise again,

Heaven speed the canvass, gallantly unfurled
How would they take up Israel's taunting strain? To furnish and accommodate a world,
Art thou too fallen, Iberia ? Do we see

To give the pole the produce of the sun, The robber and the murderer weak as we? And knit th' unsocial climates into one.-Thoa, that hast wasted earth, and dared despise Soft airs and gentle heavings of the wave Alike the wrath and mercy of the skies,

Impel the flect, whose errand is to save, Thy pomp is in the grave, thy glory laid To succour wasted regions, and replace Low in the pits thine avarice has made.

The smile of Opulence in Sorrow's face. We come with joy from our eternal rest,

Let nothing adverse, nothing unforeseen, To see the oppressor in his turn oppressed. Impede the bark, that ploughs the deep serene. Art thou the god, the thunder of whose hand Charged with a freight transcending in its worth Rolled over all our desolated land,

The gems of India, Nature's rarest birth, Shook principalities and kingdoms down, That flies, like Gabriel on his Lord's commands, And made the mountains tremble at his frown! A herald of God's love to pagan lands. The sword shall light upon thy boasted powers,

But ah! what wish can prosper, or what prayer, And waste them, as thy sword has wasted ours. For merchants rich in cargoes of despair, 'Tis thus Omnipotence his law fulfils,

Who drive a loathsome traffic, guage, and span, And Vengeance executes what Justice wills. And buy the muscles and the bones of man!

Again-the band of commerce was designed The tender ties of father, husband, friend, T'associate all the branches of mankind; All bonds of nature in that moment end; And if a boundless plenty be the robe,

And each endures, while yet he draws his breath, Trade is the golden girdle of the globe.

A stroke as fatal as the scythe of Death. Wise to promote whatever end he means, The sable warrior, frantic with regret God opens fruitful nature's various scenes: Of her he loves, and never can forget, Each climate needs what other climes produce, Loses in tears the far-receding shore, And offers something to the general use; But not the thought, that they must meet no more;

Deprived of her and freedom at a blow,

The wretch, that works and weeps without relief, What has he left that he can yet forego? Has one that notices his silent grief. Yes, to deep sadness sullenly resigned,

He, from whose hands alone all power proceeds, He feels his body's bondage in his mind; Ranks its abuse among the foulest deeds, Puts off his generous nature; and, to suit Considers all injustice with a frown; His manners with his fate, puts on the brute. But marks the man that treads his fellow down.

O most degrading of all ills, that wait Begone—the whip and bell in that hard hand On man, a mourner in his best estate!

Are hateful ensigns of usurped command: All other sorrows Virtue may endure,

Not Mexico could purchase kings a claim
And find submission more than half a cure; To scourge him, weariness his only blame.
Grief is itself a medicine, and bestowed

Remember Heaven has an avenging rod:
T'improve the fortitude that bears the load, To smite the poor is treason against God.
To teach the wanderer, as his woes increase, . Trouble is grudgingly and hardly brooked,
The path of Wisdom, all whose paths are peace; While life's sublimest joys are overlooked
But slavery !–Virtué dreads. it as her grave: We wander o'er a sunburnt thirsty soil,
Patience itself-is meanness in a slave:

Murmuring and weary of our daily toil,
Or if the will and sovereignty of God

Forget t' enjoy the palm-tree's offered shade, Did suffer it a while, and kiss the rod,

Or taste the fountain in the neighbouring glade: Wait for the dawning of a brighter day, Else who would lose, that had the power timAnd snap the chain the moment when you may. prove, Nature imprints upon whate'er we see,

The occasion of transmuting fear to love? That has a heart and life in it, Be free;

O ’tis a god-like privilege to save, The beasts are chartered—neither age nor force And that scorns it is himself a slave. Can quell the love of freedom in a horse: Inform his mind; one flash of heavenly day He breaks the cord that held him at the rack; Would heal his heart, and melt his chains away. And, conscious of an unencumbered back, ' Beauty for ashes” is a gift indeed, Snuffs up the morning air, forgets the rein; And slaves, by truth enlarged, are doubly freed, Loose fly his forelock and his ample mane.

Then would he say, submissive at thy feet, Responsive to the distant neigh he neighs;

While gratitude and love made service sweet, Nor stops till, overleaping all delays,

My dear deliverer out of hopeless night, He finds the pasture where his fellows graze.

Whose bounty bought me but to give me light, Canst thou, and honoured with a Christian I was a bondman on my native plain, name,

Sin forged, and Ignorance made fast, the chain; Buy what is woman-born, and feel no shame; Thy lips have shed instruction as the dew, Trade in the blood of innocence, and plead Taught me what path to shun, and what pursue; Expedience as a warrant for the deed ?

Farewell my former joys! I sigh no more So may the wolf, whom famine has made bold, For Africa's once loved, benighted shore ; To quit the forest and invade the fold;

Serving a benefactor I am free; So may the ruffian, who, with ghostly glide, At my best home, if not exiled from thee. Dagger in hand, steals close to your bed side; Some men make gain a fountain, whence proNot he, but his emergence forced the door,

ceeds He found it inconvenient to be poor.

A stream of liberal and heroic deeds; Has God then given its sweetness to the cane, The swell of pity, not to be confined Unless his laws be trampled on—in vain? Within the scanty limits of the mind, Built a brave world, which can not yet subsist, Disdains the bank, and throws the golden sands, Unless his right to rule it be dismissed ? A rich deposite, on the bordering lands: Impudent blasphemy! So Folly pleads,

These have an ear for his paternal call,
And, Avarice being judge, with ease succeeds. Who makes some rich for the supply of all;

But grant the plea, and let it stand for just, God's gift with pleasure in his praise employ;
That man make man his prey, because he must; And Thornton is familiar with the joy.
Still there is room for pity to abate,

O could I worship aught beneath the skies, And sooth the sorrows of so sad a state.

That earth has seen, or fancy can devise,
A Briton knows, or if he knows it not,

Thine altar, sacred Liberty, should stand,
The Scripture placed within his reach, he ought, Built by no mercenary vulgar hand,
That souls have no discriminating hue,

With fragrant turf, and flowers as wild and fair Alike important in their Maker's view;

As ever dressed a bank, or scented summer air. That none are free from blemish since the fall, Duly, as ever on the mountain's height And Love divine has paid one price for all. The peep of Morning shed a dawning light,

Again, when Evening, in her sober vest, Drinks wisdom at the milky stream of light,
Drew the gray curtain of the fading west, That cheers the silent journey of the night,
My soul should yield thee willing thanks and And brings at his return a bosom charged
praise,

With rich instruction, and a soul enlarged.
For the chief blessings of my fairest days: The treasured sweets of the capacious plan,
But that were sacrilege-praise is not thine, That Heaven spreads wide before the view of man,
But his who gave thee, and preserves thee mine; All prompt his pleased pursuit, and to pursue
Else I would say, and as I spake bid fly Still prompt him, with a pleasure always new;
A captive bird into the boundless sky,

He too has a connecting power, and draws
This triple realm adores thee-thou art come Man to the centre of the common cause,
From Sparta hither, and art here at home. Aiding a dubious and deficient sight
We feel thy force still active, at this hour With a new medium and a purer light.
Enjoy immunity from priestly power,

All truth is precious, if not all divine;
While Conscience, happier than in ancient years, And what dilates the powers must needs refine.
Owns no superior but the God she fears. He reads the skies, and, watching every change,
Propitious spirit! yet expunge a wrong

Provides the faculties an ampler range; Thy rights have suffered, and our land, too long. And wins mankind, as his attempts prevail, Teach mercy to ten thousand hearts, that share A prouder station on the general scale. The fears and hopes of a commercial care. But Reason still, unless divinely taught, Prisons expect the wicked, and were built Whate'er she learns, learns nothing as she ought; To bind the lawless, and to punish guilt; The lamp of revelation only shows, But shipwreck, earthquake, battle, fire, and flood, What human wisdom can not but oppose, Are mighty mischiefs, not to be withstood; That man, in nature's richest mantle clad And honest merit stands on slippery ground, And graced with all philosophy can add, Where covert guile and artifice abound. Though fair without and luminous within, Let just restraint, for public peace designed, Is still the progeny and heir of sin. Chain up the wolves and tigers of mankind;. Thus taught, down falls the plumage of his pride; The foe of virtue has no claim to thee,

He feels his need of an unerring guide, But let insolvent Innocence go free.

And knows that falling he shall rise no more,

Unless the power that bade him stand restore. Patron of else the most despised of men, This is indeed philosophy; this known Accept the tribute of a stranger's pen;

Makes wisdom, worthy of the name, his own; Verse, like the laurel; its immortal meed, And, without this, whatever he discuss; Should be the guerdon of a noble deed;

Whether the space between the stars and us; I may alarm thee, but I fear the shame

Whether he measure earth, compute the sea; (Charity chosen as my theme and aim) Weigh sunbeams, carve a fly, or spit a flea; I most incur, forgetting Howard's name. The solemn trifler with his boasted skill Blest with all wealth can give thee, to resign Toils much, and is a solemn trifler still: Joys doubly sweet to feelings quick as thine, Blind was he born, and his misguided eyes To quit the bliss thy rural scenes bestow, Grown dim in trifling studies, blind he dies. To seek a nobler amidst scenes of wo,

Self-knowledge truly learned of course implies To traverse seas, range kingdoms, and bring home, The rich possession of a nobler prize; Not the proud monuments of Greece or Rome, For self to self, and God to man revealed, But knowledge such as only dungeons teach, (Two themes to Nature's eye for ever sealed) And only sympathy like thine could reach; Are taught by rays, that fly with equal pace That grief sequestered from the public stage, From the same centre of enlightening grace. Might smooth her feathers, and enjoy her cage; Here stay thy foot; how copious, and how clear, Speaks a divine ambition, and a zeal,

Th’ o'erflowing well of Charity springs here! The boldest patriot might be proud to feel.. Hark! 'tis the music of a thousand rills, O that the voice of clamour and debate, Some through the groves, some down the sloping That pleads for peace till it disturbs the state, hills, Were hushed in favour of thy generous plea, Winding a secret or an open course, The poor thy clients, and Heaven's smile thy fee ? And all supplied from an eternal source. Philosophy, that does not dream or stray,

The ties Nature do but feebly bind, Walks arm in arm with nature all his way; And Commerce partially reclaims mankind; Compasses earth, dives into it, aşcends Philosophy, without his heavenly guide, Whatever steep Inquiry recommends,

May blow up self-conceit, and nourish pride Sees planetary wonders smoothly roll

But, while his promise is the reasoning part, Round other systems under her control, Has still a veil of midnight on his heart:

'Tis Truth divine, exhibited on earth,

When one, that holds communion with the skies, Gives Charity her being and her birth.

Has filled his urn where these pure waters riso, Suppose (when thought is warm and fancy flows, And once more mingles with us meaner things, What will not argument sometimes suppose ? | 'Tis e'en as if an angel shook his wings; An isle possessed by creatures of our kind, Immortal fragrance fills the circuit wide, Endued with reason, yet by nature blind, That tells us whence his treasures are supplied. Let supposition lend her aid once more,

So when a ship, well freighted with the stores And land some grave optician on the shore: The sun matures on India's spicy shores, He claps his lens, if haply they may see, Has dropped her anchor, and her canvass furled, Close to the part where vision ought to be; In some safe haven of our western world, But finds, that, though his tubes assist the sight, 'Twere vain inquiry to what port she went They can not give it, or make darkness light. The gale informs us, laden with the scent. He reads wise lectures, and describes aloud Some seek, when queasy conscience has its A sense they know not, to the wondering crowd; qualms, He talks of light, and the prismatic hues, To lull the painful malady with alms; As men of depth in erudition use;

But charity not feigned intends alone
But all he gains for his harangue is—Well,- Another's good—theirs centres in their own;
What monstrous lies some travellers will tell ! And, too short lived to reach the realms of peace,
The soul, whose sight all-quickening grace re- Must cease for ever when the poor shall cease.
news,

Flavia, most tender of her own good name,
Takes the resemblance of the good she views, Is rather careless of her sister's fame:
As diamonds, stripped of their opaque disguise, Her superfluity the poor supplies,
Reflect the noonday glory of the skies.

But, if she touch a character, it dies.
She speaks of him, her author, guardian, friend, The seeming virtue weighed against the vice,
Whose love knew no beginning, knows no end, She deems all safe, for she has paid the price :
In language warm as all that love inspires, No charity but alms aught values she,
And in the glow of her intense desires,

Except in porcelain on her mantel-tree. Pants to communicate her noble fires.

How many deeds, with which the world has rung, She sees a world stark blind to what employs From Pride, in league with Ignorance, have sprung! Her eager thought, and feeds her flowing joys; But God o'errules all human follies still, Though Wisdom hail them, heedless of her call, And bends the tough materials to his will. Flies to save some, and feels a pang for all: A conflagration, or a wintry flood, Herself as weak as her support is strong, Has left some hundreds without home or food; She feels that frailty she denied so long;

Extravagance and Avarice shall subscribe, And, from a knowledge of her own disease, While fame and self-complacence are the bribe. Learns to compassionate the sick she sees. The brief proclaimed, it visits every pew, Here see, acquitted of all vain pretence,

But first the squire's, a compliment but due: The reign of genuine Charity commence. With slow deliberation he unties Though scorn repay her sympathetic tears, His glittering purse, that envy of all eyes, She still is kind, and still she perseveres; And, while the clerk just puzzles out the psalm, The truth she loves a sightless world blaspheme, Slides guinea behind guinea in his palm; 'Tis childish dotage, a delirious dream;

Till finding, what he might have found before, The dang hey discern not, they deny;

A smaller piece amidst the precious store, Laugh at their only remedy, and die.

Pinched close between his finger and his thumb, But still a soul thus touched can never cease, He half exhibits, and then drops the sum. Whoever threatens war, to speak of peace. Gold to be sure!— Throughout the town 'tis told, Pure in her aim, and in her temper mild, How the good squire gives never less than gold, Her wisdom seems the weakness of a child: From motives such as his, though not the best, She makes excuses where she might condemn, Springs in due time supply for the distressed; Reviled by those that hate her, prays for them: Not less effectual than what love bestows, Suspicion lurks not in her artless breast, Except that office clips it as it goes. The worst suggested, she believes the best; But lest I seem to sin against a friend, Not soon provoked, however stung and teased, And wound the grace I mean to recommend, And, if perhaps made angry, soon appeased; (Though vice derided with a just design She rather waives than will dispute her right, Implies no trespass against Jove divine,) And, injured, makes forgiveness her delight. Once more I would adopt the graver style,

Such was the portrait an apostle drew, A teacher should be sparing of his smile. The bright original was one he knew;

Unless a love of virtue light the flame, Heaven held his hand, the likeness must be true. Satire is, more than those he brands, to blame;

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