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And Oh! that humble as my lot,

And scorned as is my ftrain, These truths, though known, too much forgot,

I may not teach in vain.

So prays your clerk with all his heart,

And ere he quits the pen,
Begs you for once to take his part

And answer all-Amen!



Quod adest, memento
Componere æquus. Cætera fluminis
Ritu feruntur.


Improve the present hour, for all beside
Is a mere feather on a torrent's tide.

Could I, from heaven inspired, as sure presage To whom the rising year shall prove his last; As I can number in my pun&tual page, And.item down the victims of the past;

How each would trembling wait the mournful Meet,
On which the press might ftamp him next to die;
And, reading here his sentence, how replete
With anxious meaning, heaven-ward turn his eye!

Time then would seem more precious than the joys,
In which he sports away the treasure now;
And prayer more seasonable than the noise
Of drunkards, or the music-drawing bow.

Then doubtlefs many a trifler, on the brink
Of this world's hazardous and headlong shore,
Forced to a pause, would feel it good to think,
Told that his setting fun must rise no more.

Ah self-deceived ! Could I prophetic fay
Who next is fated, and who next to fall,
The reft might then seem privileged to play ;
But, naming none, the Voice now speaks to ALL.

Observe the dappled forefters, how light
They bound, and airy o'er the sunny glade-
One falls—the rest, wide-scattered with affright,
Vanish at once into the darkest shade.

Had we their wisdom, should we often warned,
Still need repeated warnings, and at laft,
A thousand awful admonitions scorned,
Die self-accused of life run all to waste ?

Sad waste! for which no after-thrift atones .
The grave admits no cure for guilt or fin;
Dew-drops may deck the turf that hides the bones,
But tears of godly grief ne'er flow within.

Learn then ye living ! by the mouths be taught
Of all these fepulchres, instructors true,
That, soon or late, death also is your lot,
And the next opening grave may yawn for you.



-Placidaque ibi demum morte quievit.


There calm at length he breathed his soul away.

“Oh most delightful hour by man

• Experienced here below, “ The hour that terminates his span,

“ His folly, and his woe!

« Worlds should not bribe me back to tread

“ Again life's dreary waste, “ To see again my day o'erspread

“ With all the gloomy paft.

“ My home henceforth is in the skies,

“ Earth, seas, and fun adieu ! “ All heaven unfolded to my eyes, I have no fight for you."

So fpoke Afpafio, firm poffeft

Of faith's supporting rod,
Then breathed his foul into its rest,

The bosom of his God.

He was a man among the few

Sincere on virtue's fide; And all his strength from scripture drew,

To hourly use applied.

That rule he prized, by that he feared,

He hated, hoped, and loved;
Nor ever frowned, or fad appeared,

But when his heart had roved.

For he was frail as thou or I,

And evil felt within:
But when he felt it, heaved a sigh,.

And loathed the thought of sin,

Such lived Aspafio; and at laft

Called up from Earth to Heaverry The gulph of death triumphant passed,

By gales of blessing driven.

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