Y.

A

PO E TR

A REAL CHARACTER.

ND has the folitary shade confest,

How much he longed for an eternal rest? The of death, the opening grave appears, pomp

Weakness and pain, amid his blooming years:
The pale confumption, with the fever's rage,
Alternate ftrove to push him off the stage:
Mature in grace, though immature in days,
His pallid lamp fent forth a ftruggling blaze;
Each painful vigil prophefiéd he must
Ere long repose upon a bed of duft.

At length-the lingering writ of ease appeared,
The mortal mandate, which he calmly heard:
"One hour determines thy afflicted days,

That hour improve, in patience, love and praise."
His fluttering foul, the mighty comfort heard,
And all-collected for his change prepared.

Now ftrong convulfions rend the tottering clay,
And fnatch the reafoning faculty away;
His lips yet vibrate, in the throes of death,
And clammy damps arreft his leffèning breath :
The filver cord a weakening flacknefs takes,
The golden bowl in fhivering atoms breaks;
Nor e'er again the broken wheel fhall ply,
For now, alas! the human ciftern's dry;
Each glaffy orb is fixed in gloom and death,-
The struggle ends, with-that expiring breath!

Behold his meagre corpfe,-but alfo fee
His better part absorbed in Deity!

And though all spent, and motionless the clay,
His more effential form shall ne'er decay;

But like the unfading rose of Eden bloom;
Nor pain emaciate, nor decay consume.

Still would I gaze to fee the amazing fight,
Which rushes forward in a flood of light,
Through dazzling files he gains the blest abode,
And-proftrate falls before the throne of God!
"Rife happy fpirit, the Redeemer faith,
Let love fupply the place of hope and faith,
Yon golden harp, already tuned, shall raise
The grateful accents of thy Saviour's praise!"
He heard,―he gazéd,—he joined the tuneful choir,
And fung redemption on his golden lyre.
The heavenly arches echoed to the sound,
He gazed and fung,-and fung-and gazed around;
Myriads of raptured spirits caught the flame,
While all heaven rung with Jefu's faving name!

Until mortality that fight can bear,

My foul fall proftrate in unweariėd prayer;
Let each defire, and every action prove
A patient hope,-a faith that works by love:
And, if divinely confcious of thy want,

Of what this world can neither take nor grant;
That blood-bought confcioufnefs, ftill dare to keep,
And watch, and pray, and perfevere and weep;
Indulge the fweet distress, the healing pain,
And view this proffered world with calm difdain.

When ftrong temptations fhake thy inmoft frame,
Look from thyfelf,-and call upon his name;
That name fo dear, to every foul oppreft,
Which heals the fick, and lulls the weak to reft!

"O let me die his death," fond nature faith,

Firft live his life of fecret prayer and faith, "His life!"-fay fome, "a defert life he led, A monkifh, folitary life indeed;

Nor

Nor company, nor converfation fought,
He was a living fepulchre of thought:
But that I knew his grace, another cried,
I'd almoft fay, his loneliness was pride."

But not the folitary life alone

Engrofsed his time-he was the dutéous fon;
Journies of filial love made him repair
To see the parent of his tender care;

Explore her thoughts, explain her asking eye,
Help her to live-and fhew her how to dic.

Like youthful Samuel, fee, his non-age fhow
His early call, his gifts and graces too;
Like that prophetic child, he could not tell
His Saviour called him, to call fouls from hell:
The fecond call his foul with trembling heard,
Received the tidings-but the office feared:
"Lord, fend by whom thou wilt, but not by me,
My inexperienced age, is known to thee:
My weakness,-ignorance, and youth declare
I'm all unfitness fuch a weight to bear."

Thus reafon feemed to fpeak, but spoke in vain,
Unerring providence had laid the plan;

Forced out the ftripling, 'midft his numerous fears,
O'er-awed his doubts;-his doubts the meffage hears:
Go quickly; fand amidst the various crowd,
Let love and pity raise thy voice aloud,
Affure mankind their Saviour waits to fave
The chief of finners, from the infernal grave.

Shew the poor formal painted Pharifee, That thieves and harlots are as good as he; Affure the man, who fays his prayers, he may Say them a thousand times, and yet not pray:

Affure

Affure him alfo, he may give his ftore
To feed and clothe the melancholy poor,
Yea, all his riches, all he has, yet be
Still deftitute of gospel charity.

Tell him, he may the facrament partake,
And yet in vain the facred fymbol break;
Unless in that commemorative feast,
He earnest feeks from fin to be released.
Tell fuch as feel their guilt and helplessness,
I came their weary wandering fouls to blefs;
And he who knows himself already loft,
By true repentance ftript of every boaft;
Let fuch with faith's ftrong evidence believe,
1 loved his foul, and died that he might live."

Commiffioned thus, the youth was carried forth,
With fweet reluctance, and a modest worth;
The liftening crowd for life attentive hear,
The groffer finner drops a balmy tear;
The once felf-righteous feek to be forgiven,
The felf-condemned presume to ask for heaven;
The rich, awhile forget their birth and state,
The poor find out the fecret to be great.

Hear the pale preacher, with an awful grace,
Declare God's mercy to the fallen race;
Hear him with ftrength of argument proceed
To fcan that fhort, but comprehenfive creed,
The fall and rife of once thrice happy man;
How grace and wisdom formed thẻ amazing plan;
How God's eternal Son became a child;
How truth and mercy, love' and juftice fmiled.

But when that highest point of love, became The wondrous topic of his tragic theme,

See

See him pursue his fuffèring Mafter's fate,
Hear him expatiate on the bloody fweat,
The bitter cup, the agonizing prayers,
Thé extorted cry, the energy of tears,

The fcourges,-pillar,-crofs, and pondrous nails,
The pomp of death,-here all defcription fails!
The laft deep groan,--the heavens in mourning clad,
The general earthquake,-and the starting dead,
The facred veil, miraculously tore,

The dreary tomb,-the rifing Conqueror !
Upon these topics as the preacher dwelt,
The attentive audience rapturoufly felt;

They felt, admired, and owned the doctrine true;
For heaven rushed in upon their weeping view:
Juft as the kindly drops of genial rain,

Which cheer the herbage on the fickly plain,

Or as the balmy dew upon the rofe,

Which though the leaves in foft meanders flows;
So thrilling tears, fpontaneous found their way, 2
And they who came to gaze,-began to pray!..

Thus in the glorious caufe the youth went on;
But his meridian,-was his fetting fun:
For pain and languor, quite his frame unftrung,
Yet fill the gospel dwelt upon his tongue.
Oft interrupted, yet he still essayed
Till, all exhaufted,-fpun unto a thread,
His work then done, he quietly retired
And in his Master's arms with joy expired!