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JAMES MONTGOMERY. 1771–1854. (Manual, p. 432.)
FROM “THE WEST INDIES.”
Uttered or unexpressed;
That trembles in the breast.
Prayer is the burden of a sigh,
The falling of a tear,
Wher none but God is near.
Prayer is the simplest form of speech
That infant lips can try;
The Majesty on high.
Prayer is the Christian's vital breath,
The Christian's native air;
He enters heaven by prayer
Prayer is the contrite sinner's voice
Returning from his ways;
And say, “Behold, he prays ! ”
The saints in prayer appear as one,
In word, and deed, and mind,
Their fellowship they find.
Nor prayer is made on earth alone;
The Holy Spirit pleads;
For sinners intercedes.
O Thou, by whom we come to God,
The Life, the Truth, the Way,
HORACE Smith. 1780-1849. (Manual, p. 433.)
316. ADDRESS TO A MUMMY.
And thou hast walked about (how strange a story!)
In Thebes's streets three thousand years ago,
And time had not begun to overthrow
Speak! ior thou long enough hast acted dumb3 :
Thou hast a tongue, come, let us hear its tune; Thou’rt standing on thy legs above ground, mummy!
Revisiting the glimpses of the moon. Not like thin ghosts or disembodied creatures. But with thy bones, and flesh, and limbs, and features,
Tell 18 — for doubtless thou canst recollect
To whom we should assign the Sphinx's fame i
Of either Pyrainid that bears his name?
Perhaps thou wert a mason, and forbidden
By oath to tell the secrets of thy trade Then say, what secret melody was hidden
In Mennon's statue, which at sunrise played? Perhaps thou wert a Priest -- if so, my struggles Are vain, for priestcraft never owns its juggles.
p'erchance that very hand, now pinioned flat,
Has hob-a-nobbed with Pharaoh, glass to glass;
Or doffed thine own to let Queen Dido pass,
I need not ask thee if that hand, when armed,
Has any Roman soldier mauled and knuckled,
Ere Romulus and Remus had been suckled :
Thou couldst develop, if that withered tongue
Might tell us what those sightless orbs have seen, How the world looked when it was fresh and young,
And the great deluge still had left it green; Or was it then so old, that history's pages Contained no record of its early ages?
Still silent, incommunicative elf!
Art sworn to secrecy? then keep thy vows; But prythee tell us something of thyself,
Reveal the secrets of thy prison-house; Since in the world of spirits thou hast slumbered, What hast thou cen - what strange adventures numbered ?
Since first thy foim was in this box extended,
We have, above ground, seen some strange mutations.; The Roman empire has begun and ended,
New worlds have risen - we have lost old nations, And countless kings have into dust been humbled, Whilst not a fragment of thy flesh has crumbled.
Didst thou not hear the pother o'er thy head,
When the great Persian conqueror, Cambyses,
O'erthrew Osiris, Orus, Apis, Isis,
If the tomb's secrets may not be confessed,
The nature of thy private life unfold:
Anc tears adown that dusky cheek have rolled;
Statue of flesh - immortal of the dead!
Imperishable type of evanescence!
And standest undecayed within our presence,
Why should this worthless tegument endure,
If its undying guest be lost forever?
In living virtue, that, when both must sever,
GEORGE CANNING. 1770-1827.
FROM “ THE ANTIJACOBIN.” 31. The FRIEND OF HUMANITY AND THE KNIFE-GRINDER
Friend of Humanity.
So have your breeches.
Scissors to grind, O!”
Tell me, Knife-grinder, how came you to grind knives?
Or the attorney?
Was it the squire, for killing of luis game? or
All in a lawsuit?
(Have you not read the Rights of Man, by Tom Painei)
Pit ful story.
Torn in a scuffle.
Constables came up foi to take me into
Stocks for a vagran..
I should be glad to drink your honor's health in
With politics, Sir.
Friend of Humanity. I give thee sixpence! I will see thee hanged firstWretch, whom no sense of wrongs can rouse to vengeance Sordid, unfeeling, reprobate, degraded,
Kicks tha Knife-grinder, overturns his wheel, and exit in
JOHN WILSON. 1785-1854. Manual, p. 469.)
318. FROM "THE CITY OF THE PLAGUE.”
Together will ye walk through long, long streets,