LINES

Written by the late Rev. SAM. PEARCE. on being prevented by illness from attending public worship.

THE Fabric of Nature is fair,

But fairer the Temple of Grace; To faints 'tis the joy of the earth, The most glorious and beautiful place. To this Temple I once did refort,

With crouds of the people of God; Enraptur'd we enter'd its court,

And hail'd the Redeemer's abode.
The Father of mercies we prais'd,

And proftrated low at his throne;
The Saviour we lov'd and ador'd,
Who lov'd us and made us his own.
Full oft to the meffage of peace,
To finners addrets'd from the sky,
extolling that grace,

Which fet us (once Rebels) on high.
Faith, clave to the crucify'd Lamb,
Hope, fmiling exalted its head,

Love, warm'd at the Saviour's dear name,
And vow'd to obferve what he faid.
Each brother and fifter around,
Now fill'd with affection divine,
Rejoic'd at the mutual delight;

And feem'd on each other to shine.
Sweet moments! if aught upon earth
Refembles the joys of the fkies,
It is when the hearts of the flock,

Conjoin'd to the Shepherd, arife!
But ah! thefe fweet moments are fled,
Pale fickness compels me to ftay,
Where no voice of the turtle is heard,
As the moments are hafting away.
My God! thou art holy and good,
Thy plans are all righteous and wife,
O! help me fubmiffive to wait,

'Till rbou biddeft thy fervant arise.
If to follow Thee here in thy courts,
May it be with an ardor and zeal;
With fuccefs and increafing delight,
Performing the whole of thy will.
Or fhould'st thou in bondage detain,
To vifit thy Temples no more,
O ripen for worship above,

Where I fhall for ever adore!
Where Jefus, the fun of the place,
Refulgent inceffantly fhines;
Eternally bleffing his faiu's,

And pouring delight on their minds.

There, there, are no prifons to hold,
Its captive from taiting delight!
There, there, the day never is clos'd,
With fhadows, or darkness, or night.
There myriads and myriads fhall meet,
In our Saviour's high praifes to join,
Tranfported they fall at his feet,

And extol the redemption divine.
Enough then-my heart fhall no more

Of its prefent bereavements complain, Since e'er long I to heav'n fhall foar, And ceafelefs enjoyments attain.

LINES

Compofed on reading three Letters from CAPTAIN ROBSON, relative to the capture of the Ship Duff.

LIFT up your hearts, your voices taile,
Chidren of Zion fing,

The Lord maintains his faithfulness,
And reigns th' eternal king.
Tho' clouds o'erfpread his dwelling-place,
And hide his trackless ways,
Yet he appears a God of Grace,

And merits ceafeless praife.
He fits a fov'reign on his throne,
And whilft his awful will
Controuls the creatures he has made,

His faints are near him ftill.
On native fhores, or foreign lands,

His eye their wants furveys; And with a tender parent's love,

Supplies them various ways.

He oft times leads his chofen tribes

By ways they do not know, And to fulfil his own decrees,

Does oft their plans o'erthrow.
And thus he puts their love to test,
Their strength of faith he tries,
Calls forththeir patience,makes them own,
That He alone is wife.

What kindness have our Brethren prov'd,
From men of different tongues!
Our Sisters dear-for whom we mourn'd,
Kept and preferv'd from wrongs.
Ev'n foes prove friendly-when the Lord
Has fervants to protect;
Then let us follow where he leads,
And fit fupplies expect.

Affur'd he'll not defert the cause,
Mark'd with his fignature;

His foes muft perifh-but his crown,
Shall ever more endure.
A. N.

LINES

To the Memory of the late Rev. CHRISTOPHER MENDS, of Plymouth.

Shall heave and flow," as oft recurring

thought,

Recalls to view the rapt attentive throng,

ling lake,

The woodlands fend a gentle murmur

ing found,

And dimly fhadowing o'er yon eastern brake.

The moon begins her periodic round. I now will walk where contemplation fills Sublime, the folemn mazes of the grove, Where thought immortal o'er the mem'ry thrills,

And lifts the foul to nobler themes above.

To themes of blifs, where round the starpav'd throne,

The blood-bought high exulting favor'd throng,

With joys extatic, infinite, unknown, Sweep the rapt lyse, or pour the filver fong!

And now emerging from the mortal croud, I mark thee, MENDS! I trace thy airy flight!

The hour that bade thee leave this drear abode,

Op'd thee the portals of immortal light. Cali'd trom thy here of usefulness below, We hail thee, now cfcaped to yonder clime,

Far from the reach of pain, the touch

of woe,

Beyond the injuries of fhort-liv'd time Nor weep I, that fair Spirit from this ball Far flown-thou foar'it where thy Redeemer reigns;

Nor weep 1, that thy God from us did call

Thimmortal Spirit to its native plains. Go mix with angel throngs, go bafk in joy, Exult with feraphs, and with them adore; Selfish we would not grudge the bleit employ,

But it thy lofs we may-we must depio:c.

For oft as mem'ry calls to mind the paft, When from thy lips truth all fublimely

stole ;

To foothe the faints, orelfe with Zion's blaft T'alarm the care lefs-roufe the torpid foul.

The figh that steals from bofoms fraught with grief,

When decpett forrow's wound with poignant (mart,

The pearly tear, that glides to give relief To the full anguish of a loaded heart,

fraught,

Faft falling from thine eloquential tongue..

The filver founding cadence of thy voice, Would charm the aged, and allure the