MISCELLANEOUS THOUGHTS. 415 and acquisitions in open day - light, without the danger of public penalties or reproach ? Where shall that happy race of men be born, who shall see truth with an unbiassed soul ; and shall speak it freely to mankind, without the fear of pärties, or the odium of singularity ? When shall that golden age arise in Great Britain, in which every rich genius shall produce his brightest sentiments to the honour of God, and to the general profit of men, and yet stand exempted from common slander ! When shall the sacred mines of scripture be digged yet deeper than ever, and the hidden riches thereof be brought out of their long obscurity, to adorn the doctrine of God our Saviour ? O that these dark and stormy days of party and prejudice were rolled away ; that meli would once give leave to their fellow chtistians tö spell out and read some ancient and unknown glories of the person of Christ, which are contained in scripture, and to unfold some hidden wonders of his gospel ! The wisest of men know yet but in part; and it is always possible to grow wiser, at least on this side heaven : but public prejudice is a friend to darkness; nor could ignorance and error, without this shield, have defended their thrones so long among creatures of reason, under the light of divine sun - beams. LVIII. Po Lucius, on the Death of Serena. DEAR SIR, SOME of these verges I attempted to sooth your sorrows in a melancholy and distressing hour : They werë all finished near the same time, and united in this form, though they have thus long lain in silence, Mir ventured to present themselves to you. I am almost in pain already, lest shey should awake your heart- ache by a recollection of some dear mournful images, and van- ished scenes of grief. Let these lines rather call your views up- ward to the better mansions of your absent kindred, and awaken you to aim every step of life toward those regions of holiness and joy. Adieu, and be happy. I am, 'Sir, Yours, Sic. Death and Heaven. In Five Lyric Odes. ODE I. The Spirit's,fare,oell to theBody, after bony Sickness. 1 HOW am I held a prisoner now, Far from my God! This mortal chain Binds me to sorrow : All below Is short he'd ease or tiresome pain. 2 When shall thatwondrous hour appear, Which frees use from this dark abode, To live at large in regions where Nor cloud nor veil shall hide my Godt 3 Farewell this flesh, these ears, these eyes, These snares and fetters of the mind ; My God; nor let this frame arise Till every dust be well refin'd. 4 Jesus, who mak'st our natures whole, Mould me a body like thy own
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