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ELEGY on the Death of a Sifter, who died in the fixteenth year of her age.

W

HILE nature lies in filence, while the
HILE

moon

A glimmering light doth through my window shed, Awake my mufe, and seize this awful gloom,

And trace fome moral leffons from the dead.

For fure no orator fo well can preach,

Or to my wounded breaft this truth convey, In words fo ftrong as Maria's ashes teach,

That all must shortly mingle with the clay.

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Dear hapless Virgin! cropt in life's warm bloom,
Whilft fanguine profpects fire the throbbing breaft,
No fairer victim ever graced the tomb,

By death configned to everlasting refl.

Ah me! how cold and filent now fhe lies!

That gentle form that once looked fresh and gay, The animating sparks fled to the skies,

Which rendered active that endearing clay!

For lavish Nature early did adorn

With every grace:-few could with her compare;
The mildeft lufture of the opening morn,
Bloomed on her angel-form and made it fair.

But as fweet rofes cropt foon feel decay,
Slow lingering fickness nipt her youthful prime;
Quick from her cheek the rofes fled away,
Which warned her foul to seek a purer clime.

How

How fhall I paint her in the arms of death!
Or how do justice to that awful hour!
What heroifm marked her lateft breath!

When faith difarmed the tyrant of his power!.

Though warm in blooming youth, yet quite refigned:
The Herald wore no terrors on his face;
Heaven's gentle messenger he feeméd designéd,
To waft her foul to everlasting peace.

Still do I fee death's languor fhade her eye;
Alas! my heart was tortured at the fight;
And still I hear that last emphatic sigh;

By which the immortal spirit took its flight.

But thou, dear fpirit, now got paft his power,

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On wings of lucid air ftand fair confefféd;
Before me, as I weep, in fome lone hour,
Beneath fome gloomy shade with woe oppreffèd.

Declare what region far above the sky,

What bowers of fragrant blifs your foul contains; What radiant feraph lent the wings to fly,

With speed of angels, through the ætherial plains.

Hail, bleffèd religion! Souls inspired by thee,
By faith confide in this eternal truth,

That when the last dread trump fets prisoners free,
Each mortal form affumes immortal youth.

This gilds the horror of the gloomy tomb,

And animates with cheerful hope the juft,

Who know the power that points the general doom,
To glory fhall receive their filent duft.

SOLON'S

SOLON'S CURE FOR GRIEF.

IS lot bewailing with unmanly tears,

A friend, by this advife, wife Solon cheers:

He leads him up to Athens' utmost height,

And," From this tower," fays he, "direct your fight:
On all the numerous buildings there below;
And now reflect, what various fcenes of woe:
Beneath those roofs each mortal, more or less,
Have long, do now, and ever will oppress.
Then learn, my friend, with decency to bear
Those common ills, which all mankind must share."

SHORT HYMNS.

Jam. ii. 23. And the fcripture was fulfilled which faith, Abraham believed God, and it was imputed to him for righteoufnefs: and he was called the friend of God.

R

ETURNING from his facrifice,

The man whom God vouchfafed to' approve;
More highly favoured by the skies,

And perfected in faith and love;
Again fulfilled, he found the word,
An image of his righteous Lord.

Perfect in love which cafts out fear,
The hoary patriarch received
The crown of his obedience here,

And intimate with heaven he lived;

With glorious dignity endowed,
For ever ftiléd, The friend of God.

MJOHN PRICKARD, Aged 37

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