All zeal for a reform, that gives offence To peace and charity, is mere pretence: A bold remark, but which, if well applied, Would humble many a towering poet's pride. Perhaps the man was in a sportive fit, And had no other play-place for his wit ; Perhaps enchanted with the love of fame, He fought the jewel in his neighbour's shame ; Perhaps whatever end he might pursue, The cause of virtue could not be his view. At every ftroke wit flashes in our eyes; The turns are quick, the polished points surprise, But fhine with cruel and tremendous charms, That while they please poffefs us with alarms: So have I seen, (and haftened to the fight On all the wings of holiday delight)
Where ftands that monument of ancient power,
Named with emphatic dignity, the tower,
Guns, halberts, fwords, and piftols, great and small,
In ftarry forms disposed upon the wall;
We wonder, as we gazing stand below,
That brafs and steel should make so fine a show;
But though we praise the exact defigner's skill,
Account them implements of mischief still.
No works fhall find acceptance in that day,
When all disguises shall be rent away,
That square not truly with the scripture plan,
Nor fpring from love to God, or love to man.
As he ordains things fordid in their birth
To be refolved into their parent earth;
And, though the soul shall seek superior orbs,
Whatever this world produces, it absorbs;
So felf ftarts nothing, but what tends apace
Home to the goal, where it began the race.
Such as our motive is our aim must be,
If this be fervile, that can never be free:
If felf employ us, whatsoever is wrought,
We glorify that self, not him we ought;
Such virtues had need prove their own reward,
The judge of all men owes them no regard.
True Charity, a plant divinely nursed,
Fed by the love, from which it rose at first,
Thrives againft hope, and in the rudeft scene,
Storms but enliven its unfading green;
Exuberant is the shadow it supplies,
Its fruit on earth, its growth above the skies.
To look at him, who formed us and redeemed,
So glorious now, though once fo difesteemed,
To fee a God ftretch forth his human hand,
To uphold the boundless scenes of his command;
To recollect that in a form like our's,
He bruifed beneath his feet the infernal powers,
Captivity led captive, rofe to claim
The wreath he won, fo dearly in our name;
That throned above all height he condefcends
To call the few that truft in him his friends;
That in the heaven of heavens, that space he deems
Too fcanty for the exertion of his beams,
And fhines, as if impatient to bestow
Life and a kingdom upon worms below;
That fight imparts a never-dying flame,
Though feeble in degree, in kind the fame.
Like him the foul thus kindled from above
Spreads wide her arms of universal love;
And ftill enlarged as the receive the grace,
Includes creation in her close mbrace.
Behold a Chriftian!-and without the fires
The founder of that name alone infpires,
Though all accomplishment, all knowledge meet,
To make the fhining prodigy complete,
Whoever boafts that name-behold a cheat!
Were love, in these the world's laft doting years,
As frequent as the want of it appears,
The churches warmed, they would no longer hold
Such frozen figures, ftiff as they are cold;
Relenting forms would lose their power, or cease;
And even the dipt and sprinkled live in peace:
Each heart would quit its prifon in the breast,
And flow in free communion with the reft.
The ftatelman, skilled in projects dark and deep,
Might burn his useless Machiavel, and fleep;
His budget often filled, yet always poor,
Might fwing at ease behind his ftudy door,
No longer prey upon our annual rents,
Or feare the nation with its big contents:
Difbanded legions freely might depart,
And flaying man would ceafe to be an art.
No learned difputants would take the field,
Sure not to conquer, and fure not to yield;
Both fides deceived, if rightly understood,
Pelting each other for the public good.
Did charity prevail, the prefs would prove
A vehicle of virtue, truth, and love;
And I might spare myfelt the pains to fhow
What few can learn, and all fuppofe they know.
Thus have I fought to grace a serious lay
With many a wild indeed but flowery spray,
In hopes to gain, what else I must have loft,
The attention pleasure has fo much engroffed.
But if unhappily deceived I dream,
And prove too weak for fo divine a theme,
Let Charity forgive me a mistake
That zeal, not vanity, has chanced to make,
And spare the poet for his fubject's fake.
Nam neque me tantum venientis sibilus austri,
Nec percussa juvant fluctû tam litora, nec quæ
Saxosas inter decurrunt flumina valles.
THOUGH nature weigh our talents, and difpenfe
To every man his modicum of fense,
And Converfation in its better part
May be efteemed a gift and not an art,
Yet much depends, as in the tiller's toil,
On culture, and the sowing of the foil.
Words learned by rote a parrot may rehearse,
But talking is not always to converse;
Not more diftinct from harmony divine,
The conftant creaking of a country fign.
As Alphabets in ivory employ,
Hour after hour, the yet unlettered boy,
Sorting and puzzling with a deal of glee
Those feeds of science called his A B C
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