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Now, destruction's strife is o'er!

The countless host

For ever lost!

The gulph is clos'd, their cries are heard no more!

Thus, while the frowning shepherd pour'd along
The deep impetuous torrent of his song,
Saul, stung by dire despair,

Gnash'd his teeth, and tore his hair :
From his blood, by horror chill'd,
A cold and agonizing sweat distill'd:
Then, foaming with unutterable smart,
He aim'd a dagger at his heart.

His watchful train prevent the blow,

And call each lenient balm, to soothe his frantie


Cease your cares; the body's pain

A sweet relief may find;

But gums and lenient balms are vain
To heal the wounded mind.

Come, fair Repentance, from the skies,
O sainted maid, with upcast eyes!
Holy guide, descend, and bring
Mercy from th' eternal King!
To his soul your beams impart,
And whisper comfort to his heart!

Behold, obedient to their great command,
The lifted dagger quits his trembling hand:
See the signs of grace appear;
See the soft relenting tear
Trickling at sweet Mercy's call!
Catch it, angels, ere it fall,

And let the heart-sent offering rise,
Heav'n's best accepted sacrifice!—

Happy king, thy woes are o'er!
Thy GoD shall wound thy soul no more:
The pitying Father of mankind
Meets the pure-returning mind.

Softly, softly breathe your numbers,
And wrap his wearied soul in slumbers!
Gentle sleep becalm his breast,
And close his eyes in healing rest!

Descend, celestial visions, ye who wait
GOD's ministring pow'rs, at heav'n's eternal gate!
Descend!-Oh, waft him to the skies,
And open all heav'n's glories to his eyes!

What pow'r can every passion's throe control?
What pow'r can boast the charm divine,
To still the tempest of the soul?—
Celestial Harmony, that pow'r is thine!

At Wisdom's call she robed yon glittering skies, Attun'd the spheres, and taught consenting orbs to rise.

Angels wrapt in wonder stood,

And saw that all was fair, and all was good.

'Twas then, ye sons of GOD, in bright array Ye shouted o'er creation's day;

Then kindling into joy,

The morning stars together sung;

And thro' the vast etherial sky
Seraphic hymns and loud hosannahs rung.


To E. C. who had recommended the Stoic Philosophy as productive of Fortitude.-Miss Mulso.

COME, Epictetus ! arm my breast
With thy impenetrable steel,
No more the wounds of grief to feel,
Nor mourn by others woes deprest.
Oh, teach my trembling heart
To scorn Affliction's dart;
Teach me to mock the tyrant Pain!
For see around me stand

A dreadful murderous band;

I fly their cruel power in vain :

Here lurks Distemper's horrid train,

And there the Passions lift their flaming brands ; Those with fell rage my helpless body tear,

While these, with daring hands,

Against the immortal soul their impious weapons


Where-e'er I turn, fresh evils meet my eyes;
Sin, Sorrow, and Disgrace

Pursue the human race!

There on the bed of sickness Virtue lies!

See Friendship bleeding by the sword

Of base Ingratitude;

See baleful Jealousy intrude,

And poison all the bliss that love had stor❜d!
Oh! seal my ears against the piteous cry
Of Innocence distrest!

Nor let me shrink when Fancy's eye
Beholds the guilty wretch's breast
Beneath the torturing pincers heave;
Nor for the numerous wants of misery grieve,
Which all disposing Heaven denies me to relieve!

No longer let my fleeting joys depend
On social, or domestic ties !
Superior let my spirit rise,

Nor in the gentle counsels of a Friend,
Nor in the smiles of love, expect delight;
But teach me in myself to find
Whate'er can please or fill my mind.
Let inward beauty charm the mental sight,
Let Godlike reason, beaming bright,
Chase far away each gloomy shade,
'Till Virtue's heavenly form display'd
Alone shall captivate my soul,
And her divinest love possess me whole!

But, ah! what means this impious pride
Which heavenly hosts deride!
Within myself does virtue dwell?

Is all serene and beauteous there?
What mean these chilling damps of fear?-
Tell me Philosophy! Thou boaster! tell:

This Godlike all-sufficient mind,
Which, in its own perfection blest,
Defies the woes or malice of mankind
To shake its self-possessing rest,
Is it not foul, weak, ignorant, and blind?
Oh man! from conscious virtue's praise
Fall'n, fall'n!-what refuge canst thou find!
What pitying hand again will raise
From native earth thy grovelling frame!
Ah! who will cleanse thy heart from spot of sinful

But see! what sudden glories from the sky
To my benighted soul appear,

And all the gloomy prospect cheer?
What awful form approaches nigh?
Awful, yet mild as is the southern wind

That gently bids the forest nod. Hark! thunder breaks the air, and angels speak! "Behold the SAVIOUR of the world! Behold the Lamb of GOD!"

Ye sons of pride, behold his aspect meek!
The tear of pity on his cheek!

See in his train appear

Humility and Patience sweet,
Repentance, prostrate at his sacred feet,

Bedews with tears, and wipes them with her flowing hair!

What scenes now meet my wondering eyes!
What hallow'd grave,

By mourning maids attended round,

Attracts the Saviour's steps? What heartfelt wound

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