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His spotless bosom heaves with tender sighs? Why weeps the SoN belov'd, omnipotent to save? But, lo, He waves his awful hand,—


The sleeping clay obeys His dread command: Oh Lazarus! Come forth!" Come forth and see "The dear effects of wondrous love!

"He, at whose word the seas and rocks removes Thy Friend, thy LORD, thy MAKER, weeps for thee!"

Thy walls, Jerusalem, have seen thy King,
In meekness clad, lament thy hapless fate;
Unquench'd His love, tho' paid with ruthless hate.
O, lost relentless Sion! Didst thou know
Who thus vouchsafes thy court to tread,
With loud Hosannahs wouldst thou sing!
How eager crown His honour'd head,
Nor see unmov'd His kind paternal woe!
Nor force His tears, His precious blood for thee
to flow.

No more repine, my coward soul,

The sorrows of mankind to share,

Which He, who could the world control,

Did not disdain to bear!

Check not the flow of sweet fraternal love,
By heaven's high King in bounty given,
Thy stubborn heart to soften and improve,
Thy earth-clad spirit to refine,

And gradual raise to love divine,
And wing its soaring flight to Heaven.

Nor thou, Eliza, who, from early youth
By Genius led, by Virtue train'd,
Hast sought the fountain of eternal truth,
And each fair spring of knowledge drain'd;
Nor thou, with fond chimeras vain,
With Stoic pride and fancied scorn
Of human feelings, human pain,
My feeble soul sustain !

Far nobler precepts should thy page adorn.
O, rather guide me to the sacred source

Of real wisdom, real force,

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Thy life's unerring rule!

To thee, fair Truth her radiant form unshrouds,
Though, wrapp'd in thick impenetrable
She mock'd the labours of the Grecian school.


TO HUMANITY.-Dr. Langhorne.

PARENT of Virtue, if thine ear

Attend not now to Sorrow's cry;
If now the pity-streaming tear

Should haply on thy cheek be dry, Indulge my votive strain, O sweet Humanity!

Come, ever welcome to my breast!
A tender, but a cheerful guest;
Nor always in the gloomy cell

Of life-consuming Sorrow dwell;
For Sorrow, long indulg'd and slow,
Is to Humanity a foe,

And Grief, that makes the heart its prey,

Wears Sensibility away:

Then comes, sweet nymph, instead of thee, The gloomy fiend, Stupidity.

O may that fiend be banish'd far,
Though passions hold eternal war!
Nor ever let me cease to know
The pulse that throbs at joy or woe;
Nor let my vacant cheek be dry
When sorrow fills a brother's eye;
Nor may the tear that frequent flows
From private or from social woes,
E'er make this pleasing sense depart!
Ye cares, O harden not my heart!

If the fair star of fortune smile,
Let not its flattering power beguile,
Nor, borne along the fav'ring tide,
My full sails swell with floating pride.
Let me from wealth but hope content,
Remembering still it was but lent;
To modest merit spread my store,
Unbar my hospitable door;
Nor feed with pomp an idle train,
While Want unpitied pines in vain.

If Heaven, in every purpose wise,
The envied lot of wealth denies:
If doom'd to drag life's painful load
Through Poverty's uneven road,
And for the due bread of the day,
Destin'd to toil as well as pray;

To thee, Humanity, still true,
I'll wish the good I cannot do,
And give the wretch that passes by,
A soothing word-a tear-a sigh.

Howe'er exalted or deprest,
Be ever mine the feeling breast;
From me remove the stagnant mind
Of languid indolence, reclin'd;

The soul that one long sabbath keeps,
And through the sun's whole circle sleeps;
Dull peace, that dwells in folly's eye,
And self-attending vanity :
Alike the foolish and the vain
Are strangers to the sense humane.

O, for that sympathetic glow

Which taught the holy tear to flow,
When the prophetic eye survey'd
Sion in future ashes laid!

Or, rais'd to Heaven, implor'd the bread,
That thousands in the desert fed!
Or, when the heart o'er friendship's grave
Sigh'd and forgot its pow'r to save;
O for that sympathetic glow,
Which taught the holy tear to flow !

It comes; it fills my labouring breast;
I feel my beating heart opprest.
Oh! hear that lonely widow's wail!
See her dim eye! her aspect pale!
To heaven she turns in deep despair;
Her infants wonder at her prayer,

And, mingling tears they know not why,
Lift up their little hands and cry.
O GOD! their moving sorrows see!
Support them, sweet Humanity!

Life, fill'd with grief's distressful train,
For ever asks the tear humane.
Behold in yon unconscious grove,
The victims of ill-fated love;
Heard you that agonizing throe?
Sure this is not romantic woe!
The golden day of joy is o'er,
And now they part to meet no more.
Assist them, hearts from anguish free!
Assist them, sweet Humanity!

Parent of Virtue, if thine ear

Attend not now to Sorrow's cry; If now the pity-streaming tear Should haply on thy cheek be dry, Indulge my votive strain, O sweet Humanity.


Now the golden Morn aloft

Waves her dew-bespangled wing,
With vermil cheek and whisper soft,
She wooes the tardy spring ;

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