As clocks, remaining in the skilful hand
Of fome great mafter, at the figure stand;
But when abroad, neglected they do go,
At random strike, and the false hour do fhow:
So, from our MAKER wandering, we ftray;
Like birds, that know not to their nefts the way.
In him we dwelt before our exile here:
And may, returning, find contentment there :
True joy may find, perfection of delight ;
Behold his face, and fhun eternal night.
Silence, my
Mufe! make not these jewels cheap,
Expofing to the world too large an heap.
Of all we read, the Sacred Writ is beft;
Where great truths are in feweft words expreft.
Wrestling with death, thefe lines I did indite
No other theme could give my foul delight.
O, that my youth had thus employ'd my pen!
Or, that I now could write as well as then!
But 'tis of grace, if sickness, age, and pain,
Are felt as throes, when we are born again
Timely they come to wean us from this earth;
As pangs that wait upon a fecond birth.
Occafioned upon fight of the LIIId Chapter of Ifaiah, turned into Verfe by Mrs. Wharton.
OETS we prize, when in their verfe we find
Some great employment of a worthy mind.
Angels have been inquifitive to know
The fecret, which this oracle does show.
What was to come, ISAIAH did declare;
Which the defcribes, as if fhe had been there;
Had feen the wounds, which to the reader's view
She draws fo lively, that they bleed a-new.
As ivy thrives, which on the oak takes hold:
So, with the Prophet's, may her lines grow old!
If they should die, who can the world forgive,
(Such pious lines!) when wanton SAPPHO's live?
Who with his breath his image did infpire,
Expects it should foment a nobler fire:
Not love which brutes, as well as men, may know ;
But love like his, to whom that breath we owe.
Verfe fo defign'd, on that high subject wrote,
Is the perfection of an ardent thought:
The smoke which we from burning incenfe raise,
When we complete the facrifice of praise.
In boundless verfe the fancy foars too high
For any object, but the Deity.
What mortal can with heav'n pretend to share
In the fuperlatives of wife, and fair?
A meaner fubject when with these we grace,
A giant's habit on a dwarf we place.
Sacred fhould be the product of our Mufe,
Like that fweet oil, above all private use;
On pain of death forbidden to be made,
But when it fhould be on the altar laid.
Verfe fhews a rich ineftimable vein,
When, drop'd from heav'n, 'tis thither fent again,
Of bounty 'tis that he admits our praise,
Which does not him, but us that yield it, raise.
For, as that Angel up to heav'n did rife,
Born on the flame of MANOAH's facrifice :
So, wing'd with praise, we penetrate the sky;
Teach clouds, and ftars, to praife him as we fly;
The whole creation, (by our fall made groan !)
His praife to echo, and suspend their moan.
For, that he reigns, all creatures fhould rejoice;
And we with fongs fupply their want of voice.
The Church triumphant, and the Church below,
In fongs of praise their prefent union show :
Their joys are full; our expectation long;
In life we differ, but we join in fong,
Angels, and we, affifted by this art,
May fing together, tho' we dwell a-part,
Thus we reach heav'n, while vainer poems must
No higher rife, than winds may lift the duft.
From that they fpring; this, from his breath that gave,
To the first duft, th'immortal foul we have.
His praise well fung, (our great endeavour here)
Shakes off the duft, and inakes that breath appear.
E that did firft this way of writing grace, Convers'd with the ALMIGHTY face to face : Wonders he did in facred verfe unfold,
Chaos he faw; and could diftinctly tell
How that confufion into order fell:
As if confulted with, he has exprcft
The work of the CREATOR, and his Reft:
How the flood drown'd the first offending race,
Which might the figure of our globe deface.
For, new-made earth, fo even, and so fair,
Lefs equal now, uncertain makes the air :
Surpriz'd with heat, and unexpected cold,
Early distempers make our youth look old :
Our days fo evil, and fo few, may tell
That on the ruins of that world we dwell.
Strong as the oaks that nourish'd them, and high,
That long-liv'd race did on their force rely.
Neglecting heav'n. But we, of shorter date!
Should be more mindful of impendent Fate.
To worms, that crawl upon this rubbish here,
This fpan of life may yet too long appear:
Enough to humble, and to make us great,
If it prepare us for a nobler feat.
Which well obferving, he, in numerous lines,
Taught wretched man how faft his life declines :
In whom he dwelt, before the world was made;
And may again retire, when that shall fade.
The lafting ILIADS have not liv'd fo long,
As his, and DEBORAH's, triumphant fong.
DELPHOS unknown, no Mufe could them infpire,
But that which governs the cœleftial choire.
Heav'n to the pious did this art reveal;
And from their ftore fucceeding Poets fteal :
HOMER'S SCAMANDER for the TROJANS fought,
And fwell'd fo high, by her old KISHON taught:
His river scarce could fierce ACHILLES stay;
Hers, more fuccefsful, fwept her foes away.
The host of heaven, his PHOEBUS, and his MARS,
He arms; inftructed by her fighting stars,
She led them all against the common foe:
But he, (mifled by what he faw below!)
The Pow'rs above, like wretched men, divides,
And breaks their union into diff'rent fides.
The nobleft parts which in his Heroes thine,
May be but copies of that Heroine.
HOMER himself, and AGAMEMNON, the
The writer could, and the commander, be.
Truth the relates, in a fublimer strain,
Than all the tales the boldest GREEKS could feign :
For, what the fung, that SPIRIT did indite,
Which gave her courage, and fuccefs, in fight.
A double garland crowns the matchlefs dame;
From heav'n her Poem, and her conquest came.
Tho' of the JEWS fhe merit most esteem;
Yet here the Chriftian has the greater theme:
Her martial fong defcribes how SISERA fell;
This fings our triumph over death, and hell.
The rifing light employ'd the facred breath
Of the bleft VIRGIN, and ELIZABETH.
In fongs of joy the Angels fung his birth:
Here, how he treated was upon the earth,
Trembling we read! th' affliction and the fcorn,
Which, for our guilt, fo patiently was born!
Conception, birth, and fuff'ring, all belong,
(Tho' various parts) to one cœleftial fong:
And the, well using so divine an art,
Has, in this confort, fung the tragic part.
As HANNAH's feed was vow'd to facred ufe ;
So, here this Lady confecrates her Mufe,
With like reward may heav'n her bed adorn,
With fruit as fair, as by her Mufe is born!
On the Paraphrafe on the LORD's Prayer, written by Mrs. WHARTON.
ILENCE, you winds! liften etherial lights!
While our URIANA fings what heav'n indites:
The Numbers are the Nymph's; but from above
Defcends the pledge of that eternal love.
Here wretched mortals have not leave alone,
But are inftructed to approach his throne :
And how can he to miferable men
Deny requests, which his own hand did pen?
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