Whilst this grand chorus shakes the skies—

"Above, beneath the sun,

Through boundless age, by men, by gods,

Jehovah's will be done!"

'Tis done in heaven; whence headlong hurl'd Self-will with Satan fell;

And must from earth be banish'd too,
Or earth's another hell;

Madam! self-will inflicts your pains:
Self-will's the deadly foe

Which deepens all the dismal shades,
And points the shafts of woe:

Your debt to nature fully paid,
Now virtue claims her due:
But virtue's cause I need not plead,
'Tis safe; I write to you:

You know, that virtue's basis lies
In ever judging right;

And wiping error's clouds away,

Which dim the mental sight:

Why mourn the dead? you wrong the grave,

From storm that safe resort;

We are still tossing out at sea,

Our admiral in port.

Was death denied, this world, a scene

How dismal and forlorn!

To death we owe, that 'tis to man
A blessing to be born;

When every other blessing fails,
Or sapp'd by slow decay,

Or, storm'd by sudden blasts of fate,
Is swiftly whirl'd away;

How happy! that no storm, or time,

Of death can rob the just!

None pluck from their unaching heads

Soft pillows in the dust!

Well pleas'd to bear heaven's darkest frown,

Your utmost power employ;

'Tis noble chemistry to turn Necessity to joy.

Whate'er the colour of my fate,

My fate shall be my choice: Determin'd am I, whilst I breathe, To praise and to rejoice;

What ample cause! triumphant hope!

O rich eternity!

I start not at a world in flames,

Charm'd with one glimpse of thee:

And thou! its great inhabitant!
How glorious dost thou shine!
And dart through sorrow, danger, death,
A beam of joy divine!

The void of joy (with some concern

The truth severe I tell)

Is an impenitent in guilt,

A fool or infidel!

Weigh this, ye pupils of Voltaire !
From joyless murmur free ;
Or, let us know, which character
Shall crown you of the three.

Resign, resign: this lesson none
Too deeply can instill;

A crown has been resign'd by more,
Than have resign'd the will;

Though will resign'd the meanest makes
Superior in renown,

And richer in celestial eyes,

Than he who wears a crown;

Hence, in the bosom cold of age,
It kindled a strange aim

To shine in song; and bid me boast
The grandeur of my theme:

But oh! how far presumption falls
Its lofty theme below!

Our thoughts in life's December freeze,

And numbers cease to flow.

First! greatest! best! grant what I wrote
For others, ne'er may rise

To brand the writer! thou alone
Canst make our wisdom wise;

And how unwise! how deep in guilt!
How infamous the fault!

"A teacher thron'd in pomp of words,
Indeed, beneath the taught!"

Means most infallible to make

The world an infidel;

And, with instructions most divine,
To pave a path to hell;

O! for a clean and ardent heart,
O! for a soul on fire,

Thy praise, begun on earth, to sound
Where angels string the lyre;

How cold is man! to him how hard
(Hard, what most easy seems)
"To set a just esteem on that,

Which yet he-most esteems!"

What shall we say, when boundless bliss Is offer'd to mankind,

And to that offer when a race

Of rationals is blind?

Of human nature ne'er too high
Are our ideas wrought;
Of human merit ne'er too low

Depress'd the daring thought.

277

ON THE LATE QUEEN'S DEATH,

AND HIS MAJESTY'S ACCESSION TO THE THRONE

INSCRIBED TO JOSEPH ADDISON, ESQ. SECRETARY TO

THEIR EXCELLENCIES THE LORDS JUSTICES.

Gaudia curis.

HOR.

SIR, I have long, and with impatience, sought
To ease the fulness of my grateful thought,
My fame at once, and duty to pursue,
And please the public, by respect to you.
Though you, long since beyond Britannia known
Have spread your country's glory with your own;
To me you never did more lovely shine,
Than when so late the kindled wrath divine
Quench'd our ambition, in great Anna's fate,
And darken'd all the pomp of human state.
Though you are rich in fame, and fame decay,
Though rais'd in life, and greatness fade away
Your lustre brightens: virtue cuts the gloom
With purer rays, and sparkles near a tomb.

Know, sir, the great esteem and honour due,
I chose that moment to profess to you,
When sadness reign'd, when fortune, so severe
Had warm'd our bosoms to be most sincere.
And when no motives could have force to raise
A serious value, and provoke my praise,
But such as rise above, and far transcend
Whatever glories with this world shall end,