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The smiling infant in his hand fhall take The crested basilik and speckled snake, Pleas'd the green luftre of the scales survey, And with their forky tongue shall innocently play. Rise, crown'd with light, imperial Salem, rise ! Exalt thy tow'ry head, and lift thy eyes ! See a long race thy spacious courts adorn; See future fons, and daughters yet unborn, In crowding ranks on ev'ry fide arise, Demanding life, impatient for the skies! See barb’rous nations at thy gates attend, Walk in thy light, and in thy temple bend; See thy bright altars throng'd with prostrate kings, And heap'd with products of Sabæan springs ! For thee Idume's spicy forests blow, And seeds of gold in Ophir’s mountains glow. See heav'n its fparkling portals wide display, And break
thee in a flood of day! No more the rising fun shall gild the morn, Nor ev'ning Cynthia fill her filver horn ; But loft, dissolv'd in thy superior rays, One tide of glory, one unclouded blaze O’erflow thy courts : the light himself shall shine Reveal'd, and God's eternal day be thine ! The feas shall waste, the skies in smoke do Rocks fall to dust, and mountains But fix'd his word, his savin Thy realm for ever lafts
The UNIVERSAL PRAYER.
By the Same.
ATHER of all! in er’ry age,
In ev'ry clime ador'd,
Jehovah, Jove, or Lord!
Thou great first caue, leaft under ftuod :
Who all my sense confin’d
And that myself am blind
Yet not to earth's contracted span
Thy goodness let me bound, Or think thee Lord alone of man,
When thousand worlds are round :
Let not this weak, unknowing hand
Presume thy bolts to throw, And deal damnation round the land,
On each I judge thy foe.
If I am right, thy grace impart,
Still in the right to stay: If I am wrong, oh teach my
heart To find that better way:
Save me alike from foolish pride,
Or impious discontent,
Or aught thy goodness lent.
Teach me to feel another's woe,
To hide the fault I fee; That mercy I to others show,
That mercy Thow to me.
Mean tho' I am, not wholly so,
Since quick’ned by thy breath;
This day, be bread and peace my lot :
All else beneath the sun,
And let thy will be done.
Whose altar, earth, fea, ikies !
All nature's incense rise !
NIGHT THOUGHTS, by Dr. YOUNG.
- NIGHT FI R S T.
IR’D nature's sweet restorer, balmy sleep!
He, like the world, his ready visit pays
From short (as usual) and disturb'd repose,