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Now, now, I cry, my soul shall soar above!
But this alas ! was all dissembled love.
Sure this belief some pity might obtain;
Thou should'st at least for this have broke my chain.
But if I'm still confin'd, my wings I'll try;
And if I fail, in great attempts I die.
But see! he comes, and as he glides along,
He waves his hand, and seems to say, Come on.
I'll rise, and fee into his lov'd embrace,
And snatch a kiss, a thousand, from his face.
Now, now he's near, his sacred robe I touch,
And I shall grasp him at the next approach:
But he, alas ! has mock'd my vain design,
And fled these arms, these nighted arms of mine :
For tho' the distance ne'er so little be,
It seems th' extremes of the vast globe to me.
Thus does my love my longings tantalize,
And bids me follow, while too fast he flies.
As a chain'd mastiff begging to be loose,
With restless clamors fills the deafen'd house;
But if deny'd, his teeth the chain engage,
And vents on that their inoffensive rage:
So I complain, petition to be freed,
And humbly prostrate beg the help I need.
But when my love my earnest suit denies,
Deaf as the rocks to my repeated cries,
Then I against my hated clog exclaim,
And on my CHAIN lay all the guilty blame.
Thus grief pretends, by giving passion vent,
To ease the pain of my imprisonment.
But I unjustly blame the CHAIN alone,
And spare the cruel hand that ty'd it on.
Well might the heavy load of chains I bear,
Become a Renegado flave to wear;
But why this harsh ill usage, Love, to me,
Whose whole endeavor is to come to thee?
But when my soul attempts that lofty Aight,
'Tis still supprest by a gross body's weight.
So fare young birds, by nature wing'd in vain,
Whom sportful boys with scanty threads restrain ;
When eager to retrieve their native air,
They rise a little height, and flutter there :
But having to their utmost limits flown, (down.
The more they strive to mount, they fall the faster
Each, tho' it sleeps in its young tyrant's breast,
And is with banquets from his lips carest;
Yet prizes more the freedom of the wood,
Than all the dainties of its costly food.
Could tears diffolve my CHAINS, O with what ease
I'd weep a deluge for a quick release !
But tears are vain; reach, LORD! thy hands to me,
And in return I'll stretch my CHAINS to thee.
Thou, only thou canst loose my bands; for none
Can take them off, but he who put them on.
[beam, REAT source of bliss, send down a gracious To clear his thoughts, who makes content his
Content transcends a crown, 'tis wisdom's mark;
Choice manna treasur’d in religion's ark:
A perfect watch, whose motions firmly hold,
A chymic stone that lead converts to gold :
An olive branch brcught in a turtle’s bill,
An anchor which at sea secures us still:
A calm in storins; a peace where wars invade;
In frosts a fun-fhine, and in hcats a fhade :
That high-tun'd harmony for which we long,
A sweet præludium to an heavenly song:
A Canaan that with streams of honey flows,
A graft whereon the fruit of life-tree grows :
Th’embroid'ry that the king's fair daughter wears,
When the all-glorious in her soul appears :
The heart's bright ruby--who's with this endu'ds
Shines like a star of the first magnitude.
But discontent the active mind withdraws
From sacred duties, and from reason's laws :
Changeth to dismal night sweet comfort's day,
Prolongeth crosses, and doth blessings ftay.
'Tis a dry dropsy that consumes life's powers,
A lump of leaven that all sweetness fours;
A prickly thorn that festers in the mind,
A breach where all temptations entrance find.
This lies in labor of its own distress,
Brought forth by pride, brought up by peevishness.
That Nabal-heart in which it makes abode,
Like Iflachar doth couch 'twixt double load.
For discontent, not miseries, weigh us down,
Water within, not that without, doth drown.
While to life’s moments all our care we bend,
We live unmindful of a deathless end.
Content, rejecting toys, minds things to come,
Affur'd to have enough to bring her home.
She bids the worldling not for wealth aspire,
The greatest wealth is to contract desire :
She treasures mercies in a grateful heart,
Content and thankfulness all bliss impart.
Thrice happy he who on his God relies, And, slighting earth, to heaven erects his eyes ; Who, free from care, is pleas'd with what is his, , The world's whole lott’ry proves a blank to this: Vexation is a fin, for that lament, Most discontented for thy discontent.
THOUGHTS ON PSALM XLII. II.
WHEN SHALL I COME AND APPEAR BEFORE THE PRESENCE
ITH promis'd joys my ears thou oft diț'st fill,
But they are only joys of PROMISE still.
Did'st thou not say thou soon would'st call me home?
Be just, my Love, and kindly whisper, Come!
“ Expecting lovers count each hour a day,
“ And death to them's less dreadful than delay.”
A tedious train of months and years is gone,
Since first thou bid'st me hope, yet gave me none.
Why with delays dost thou so damp my love,
And fail my vain expectancies above ?
While thus th' insulting croud derides my woe,
Where's now thy Love? how well he keeps his vow?
Haste then, and home thy longing lover take,
If not for mine, yet for thy PROMISE fake.
When shall I come before thy throne, and see
Thy glorious fceptre kindly stretch'd to me?
For Thee I pine, for THEE I am undone,
As drooping flow'rs that want their parent sun.
O cruel tort'rer of my wounded soul,
Grant me thy presence, and I shall be whole !
O when, thou author of my plaintive moan,
When shall I see thee on thy blissful throne ?