MISCELLANEOUS THOUGHTS. Which the foul carcase of a dog might do, Or any cile manure ? Away, begone; Tempt me no more: I now tenounce thy throne: My indignation swells. Here. fetch me fire, Bring me my odes, the labours ofthe lyre ; I doom them all to ashes. Úrania. Rash man, restrain thy wrath, these odes are mine ; Small is thy right in gifts so much divine. Was it thy skill that to a Saviour's name. Strung David's harp, and drew th' illustrious theme j} From smoking altars and a bleeding Lamb ? Who form'd thy sounding shell ? Who fix'd the strings, Or taught thy hand to play eternal things ? Was't not my aid that rais'd thy notes so high ? And they most live till time and nature die. Here heav'n and virtue reign : Here joy and love Tune the retir'd devotion of the grove, )} And train up mortals for the thrones above. Sinners shall start, and, strudk with dread divine, Shrink from the vengeance of Some flaming line; Shall melt in trickling woes for follies past ; Yet all amidst their piercing sorrows taste The sweets of pious hope : Emanuel's blood Flows in the verse, and seals the partial good. Salvation triumphs here, and heals the smart Of woundedconscience and a breaking heart. Youth shall learn temp'rance from these hallow'd strains, Shall bind their passions in harmonious Chains ; And virgins learn to love with cautious fear, Nor virtue needs her guard of blushes here. Matrons, grown reverend in their silver hairs, Sooth the sad memory of their ancient cares With these soft hymns ; while on their trembling knee Sits their young offspring of the fourth degree With list'mng wonder, till their infant tongue Stammers and lisps, and learns th' immortal song, And lays up the fair lesson to repeat To the fourth distant age, when sitting round their feet. Each heav'n -born heart shall choose a favourite ode To bear their morning homage to their God, And pay their nightly vows. These sacred themes Inspire the pillow with ethereal streams ; And oft amidst the burdens of the day Some devout couplet wings the soul away, Forgetful of this globe : Adieu, the cares Of mortal life! Adieu, the sins, the snares! She talks with angels, and walks o'er the stars. S Amidst th' exalted raptures of the lyre O'erwhelm'd with bliss, shall aged saints expire, And mix their notes at once with some celestial choir. Denton. What holy sounds are these? What Strains divine? Is it Voice, 0 blest Urania, thine ? 453
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