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^ THE 
 
 POOR MAN'S SABBATH, 
 
 WITH OTHER 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 JOHN STRUTHERS. 
 
 Every one tuat keepeth the Sabbath from polluting it, 
 and taketh hold of my covenant ; even them will I 
 bring lo my holy mountain, and make them jayful in 
 my house of prayer. — Holy Scriptures. 
 
 From the third Edinburgh edition, 
 
 BOSTON : 
 
 "^ UBLISHlED BY J. BELCHER^ 
 
 1813, 
 
Tp- 
 
* . ' 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 JL HE Sabbath, whether we advert to its origin, 
 its ultimate end, or its immediate effects, is cal" 
 culated to excite admiration and gratitude in the 
 bosoms of all who are susceptible of religious 
 feelings, or moral perception. 
 
 In disposing of his creatures, in appointing 
 the manner how, and the time when, he will be 
 served, it sets forth the Creator as absolutely 
 sovereign; and in accommodating the rule of 
 duty, and the commemoration of his ;^vonderful 
 works, to their weakness and wants, as perfect 
 iti wisdom, and abundant in mercy. 
 a2 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 Descending from general to particular views 
 of the Sabbath, there is, perhaps, none more in-* 
 tercsting than as it affects the child of penury 
 and toil. To him, whose daily employ is rather 
 mental than corporeal, though it gloriously 
 changes the objects of pursuit, it breaks in but 
 little upon the uniform tenor of his life ; while, 
 to him whose every day is ease and recreation, 
 it can, outwardly, have no distinguishing feature, 
 except it be shy reserve, or gloomy severity. 
 
 The Poor Man's Sabbath has in this respect a 
 delightful peculiarity, growing, like many other 
 blessings, out of his humble situation ; the full 
 force of which can alone be known by experi- 
 ence. To him it still returns with all the attrac- 
 tions of novelty, enlivening his otherwise uniform 
 existence with the most cheerful vicissitude. 
 While it awakens him to the duties of religion, 
 it releases him from the drudgery of the world ; 
 
while it elevates him to the contemplation of 
 glory and immortality, of that glory it presents 
 a lively image, and a grateful foretaste in the 
 rest and refreshing it bestows upon his body. 
 
 To delineate this particular view of the Sab- 
 bath, is the design of the followmg Poem. It 
 was, as a memorial of scenes that had passed 
 away, originally sketched for the Author's amuse- 
 ment, during a period of sickness and despond- 
 ency, that in a great measure precluded him from 
 more necessary, and, perhaps, m.ore important 
 employment. The approbation of some friends, 
 to whom it was occasionally shown in whole or 
 in part, led to its publication ; and the favoura- 
 ble reception it has met with from the Public, 
 inspires a hope, that the solitary hours devoted 
 to its composition, have not been spent altogether 
 vin vain. 
 
 A3 
 
Vi PREFACE. 
 
 In preparing this Edition for the press, some 
 passages he has endeavoured to correct,and some 
 deficiences he has attempted to supply ; by 
 which, though he is far from presuming that his 
 work is yet able to abide the stern judgment of 
 criticism, he is hopeful it will be found consid- 
 erably improved in sentiment. He perfectly 
 agrees with one, who, by the by, had no occasioi:i 
 for any apology, " That a work which cannot be 
 read with approbation unless the mind is contin- 
 ually referring to the circumstances under which 
 it was written, ought not to be brought before 
 the Public, but (when those circumstances are 
 very extraordinary) as a literary curiosity,** 
 which he never had, nor at present has any inten- 
 tion pf doing. He, however, presumes, that he 
 has certain claims upon critical candour, which, 
 under more favourable circumstances, he cer- 
 tainly should, at least, have declined to plead. 
 
These claims have been ah'eady allowed far be- 
 yond his expectations, yea, to the utmost extent 
 of his wishes ; and he desires nothing further 
 but to be perused with the same indulgence as 
 heretofore. 
 
 Reader, I have already trespassed too long 
 upon thy patience, and, with one remark, shall 
 have done. It is a parting remark,— -We prob- 
 ably have never met, and may never meet be- 
 neath this sun ; but we shall infallibly meet, un- 
 mindful of ceremonious formalities, when these 
 heavens are fled, of our Sabbaths to give a par- 
 ticular account before the throne of the Eternal. 
 In his awful presence I tremble while I write ; 
 ^ be not thou in reading altogether unconcerned. 
 Let our united prayers be, that we may be pre- 
 sented before the throne with exceeding joy, 
 knowing as we are known ; that which is perfect 
 a4 
 
being come, and that which is in past done away ; 
 when lost in boundless felicity, and in the full 
 blaze of redeeming love, every bosom shall beat 
 with equal rapture, and every voice, pitched in 
 perfect unison, shall take up the song to Him 
 that loved us, and washed us from our sins in 
 his own blood. 
 
SONNET. 
 
 W HI LE Bards illustrious, rich from Learning's stream. 
 
 That wavy winds liis classic shores along-, 
 Inhaling strength, as Heaven's resistless beam. 
 
 Sublime the world with high heroic song: 
 .[, artless, touch a less ambitious theme. 
 
 Rude, wandering Nature's solitudes among. 
 What time the fires of eve begin to gleam, 
 
 And thickening rise aerial voices strong j 
 There, giving cheerful to the passing gale 
 
 Devotion's note, that scorns the greedy grave ; 
 I ask no more, could but my harp prevail , 
 
 One single relict of the good to save ; 
 And if the virtuous poor 3Ian in my lale 
 
 Awliile be ransomed from oblivion's wave. 
 a5 
 
POOR man's sabbath. 
 
 Amidst the winds that blustering", hollow howl. 
 
 The frosts, that creep cold on the budding spray. 
 The fires that glare, the clouds that deepening scowl. 
 
 In life's low vale, with soul-depressing sway ; 
 Say, Muse, what Hghts the poor man on his way, 
 
 Gives him to drink at cool Contentment's spring, 
 Sheds on his weary soul a cheering ray. 
 
 And bids him soar on Hope's angelic wing : — 
 The Sabbath day divine, the Poor Man's Sabbath sing. 
 
 Hail ! holy day, of Heav'n the certain pledge, 
 
 And pleasing prelibation here below ; 
 'TIS thine, Creation's groaning to assuage, 
 
 And bind with balmy hand her wounds of woe. 
 Rejoicing in the morning's ruddy glow. 
 
 The labouring Ox, all wet with pearly dew. 
 The clover'd dale at will traverses slow, 
 
 Wliile idly gleams upon the distant view, 
 Far o'er the fallow field, the glittering soil-worn plough. 
 
12 THE POOR man's SABBATH. 
 
 Yea, e'en the simple Ass, the dally drudge 
 Of yonder wandering ignominious train. 
 
 The thistle champs along the common's edge. 
 And lightsome ease obliterates all his pain. 
 
 But chief, in freedom from the weary wain 
 
 / Exulting, roams at large the bounding Steed ; 
 
 Light floats upon the breeze his flowing mane. 
 He snorts, he paws, he skims the flow'ry mead ; 
 
 The Sabbath day to him a day of joy indeed. 
 
 There too, his flock with care the Farmer feeds^ 
 
 While yet his family lies reclined in sleep ; 
 This, on the part of labour, mercy pleads. 
 
 Labour, that still an early hour must keep. 
 And he that would to meditation deep. 
 
 Or exercise devout, his mind apply. 
 Will find the path a dreary, barren steep. 
 
 If drowsy slumbei's hang upon his eye. 
 And nature imrefresh'd pour forth the languid sigh. 
 
 And down the vale, where, yet unmelted, fly 
 
 The morning clouds around his humble home. 
 Wrapt up in holy contemplation high. 
 
 Behold the week-worn Cotter slowly roam. 
 On every hand the fragrant flow'rets bloom ; 
 
 An hymn of joy in every thicket rings ; 
 Earth breathes a grateful ofl''i'ing of perfume. 
 
 While blithe the lark extends his dewy wings, 
 And, soaring up to heaven, a heaven-taught sonnet sings. 
 
THE POOR man's SABBATH. 13 
 
 All this he ponders o'er with silent joy ; 
 
 With gratitude and love his heart o'erflows. 
 Yet gxieved to think, that oft with base alloy 
 
 Is mix'd the tribute which Iiis soul bestows. 
 In rev'rence deep, his head he humbly bows, 
 
 And lifts to Heav'n a supplicating' eye ; 
 Great are liis wants, but words their utterance lose ; 
 
 Dumb on his tongue his mighty cravings lie, 
 And burden'd sore, his soul pours forth a broken siglj. 
 
 And sighs are language, in th' all-gracious ear 
 
 Of Him who sits supreme on Mercy's throne. 
 Who kindly marks tlie penitential tear. 
 
 And of the broken spVit the faintest groan. — 
 The meltmgs of the heart, will He disown. 
 
 The heart enraptured with His goodness ? No — ■ 
 A gracious answer to his sigh comes down, 
 
 Warm on his soul the streams of mercy flow. 
 And kindling in his breast, Heaven's holy ardours glow. 
 
 Now, in his love, his friends and family share ; 
 
 Before his God he spreads their every case. 
 Implores that he would make them all his care. 
 
 And fold them ever in his warm embrace ; 
 But chiefly for Im Uttle infant race, 
 
 As yet unpractised in the world's vile ways ; 
 I'hat, by the influence of his special grace. 
 
 Conducted through life's dark and troubled maze, 
 ■rbeir last end may be pe^ce, their whole lives speak his 
 
14 THE POOR man's SABBATH. 
 
 Nor end his fervours here — his native land, 
 
 So lon^^ the happy scene of gospel grace, 
 He prays that God would in his love command 
 
 For it a large and everlasting peace ; 
 That on this day her sons may never cease. 
 
 While breathes the Spring, or Summer gilds the vale, 
 Or pensive Autumn shews her sallow face, 
 
 Or Winter rude, rides on the roaring gale, 
 Christ's triumph o'er Death, with raptur'd hearts to hail 
 
 Untutor'd he, with philosophic ken, 
 
 Around the limits of the world to sweep. 
 To mark the manners strange of ruder men, 
 
 And sage-like tell what mystic rites they keep ; 
 But he has heard, that o'er the troubled deep, 
 
 i?eneath the deepening shade of forests brown, 
 The naked tribes, save when they wildly leap, 
 
 Like moody madness to the changing moon. 
 No blissful day of rest, no secret service own i 
 
 That blind at Superstition's awful shrine. 
 
 Others laid prostrate, drench'd in human gore, 
 The dreadful fiends of hell, supposed divine, 
 
 With fear and aw-ful reverence adore ; 
 While idle Flamens, boasting wizard lore. 
 
 In vain essay to read their future doom : — 
 The rite abhorred, the harsh rhyme mutter*d o'er. 
 
 Cheer not the lonely dwelling of the tomb, 
 Where doubt with horror reigns, in thick surrounding- 
 gloom. 
 
THE POOR man's sabbath. 15 
 
 Ajid with th' assembly great of the First-bom, 
 
 "Whose names are writ in heaven, in spirit join'd. 
 He prays that God, \ipon theii- case forlorn, 
 
 Would cast a healing look in mercy kind ; 
 And call liis gracious covenant to mind, 
 
 His promise, that in desart streams shall flow. 
 And in wild wastes, where dragons dread reclined, 
 
 The healing herb, the shady reed shall grow. 
 In Sharon's blushing bloom, and Carmel's lively glow. 
 
 But, from his little cot, a curling cloud 
 
 Of smoke ascending, homeward tempts his way, 
 To bless his family, and to serve his God, 
 
 In all the sacred duties of the day. 
 As- fanciful, let none despise the lay ; 
 
 Sweet gleams of pleasure true Devotion brings ; 
 But doubly sweet her animating ray. 
 
 When, round a family fire, Heaven's anthem rings. 
 And Hope exulting smiles, and Faith expands her wing^. 
 
 The soul-exalting raptures who can tell, 
 
 Th* emotions dear, that warm the father's heart. 
 As, rising sweet, these strains of Zion swell 
 
 Around his little ring, devoid of art ? — 
 T'erhaps, how God beneath Oppression's smart 
 
 Beholds the poor, and listens to their sighs ; 
 Or, how in wilds and deserts far apart. 
 
 To glad the thirsty soul that fainting lies, 
 He bids the flowerets spring, and bubbling streams arise. 
 
16 THE POOR MAN*S SABBATH. 
 
 Then gravely read, while all attentive hear. 
 
 Is some mark'd portion of the sacred word ; 
 Perhaps, in Sinai's thirsty desert drear, 
 
 Or Anion's brooks^ the doing of the Lord. 
 Or how, when Persecution's cruel sword 
 
 Awoke, in burning fury to devour, 
 By Cheritb's brook conceal'd, the Prophet's board. 
 
 The ravens, mission'd by Alniighty power, 
 With bread and flesh supplied,at morn and evening's hour. 
 
 Or, when amidst the draught-consumed soil. 
 
 Their empty urns the fainting brooks deplore. 
 How the poor widow's little cruse of oil 
 
 For many a day supplied the unfailing store ; 
 Or how the weeping bard the briny shower 
 
 Poui'ed for the children of his people slain. 
 While low on earth, witli ashes covered o'er, 
 
 Zion for help stretched forth her hands in vain, 
 A hissing and a scorn to spiteful foes profane. 
 
 Or how the mighty God, a child of days, 
 
 Was, lowly, in a humble manger laid. 
 How He, by whom these heavens in glory blaze. 
 
 At toilsome drudgery earned his daily bread ; 
 Or how he came, while shook his friends with dread, 
 
 ]Majestic, walking on the weltering wave ; 
 How, at his word, the fiends of darkness fled. 
 
 And wrenched Death's captives from the yawning gi'ave, 
 Peclared his mighty arm omnipotent to save. 
 
THE POOR MAN S SABBATH. 
 
 17 
 
 Perhaps they read, while rapture-speaking tears, 
 
 Like glittering- dew-drops, o'er their faces stray. 
 How, freed from all his woes and all his fears. 
 
 Death's bands he burst upon this hallowed day ; 
 And when his friends, desponding by the way. 
 
 With doubtful hearts deplored him from them torn, 
 How he drew near, and held, till twilight gray, 
 
 Discoursing how he thus behoved to mourn, 
 While kindhng faith and love made all their hearts to burn. 
 
 Then, on their knees, with hearts sincere, they pray, 
 
 This Jesus evermore to be their p^uide, 
 Amidst the snares in life's bewildered way, 
 
 That, watchful, lurk unseen on every side ; 
 And in their lot, whatever may betide. 
 
 The sunny calm, or tempest howling high, 
 He in the cloudy-skirted storm may ride. 
 
 And whisper soft, as fainting lov/ they lie, 
 "My friends, be not afraid, for see, behold, *tis I '.'' 
 
 The humble meal is now in haste brought forth ; 
 
 No dainties smile upon their simple board ; 
 One homely dish each morn rewards their worthy 
 
 'Tis all they ask, and all they can aftbrd. 
 Yet still, within their frugal pantry stored, 
 
 A savouiy cheese remains, to grace the day 
 Of holy rest, when carking Care abhoii'd. 
 
 Wrapt in his cloud of da; kness, shrinks away 
 Before the radient rise of Hope's high-streaming r;ly. 
 
18 THE POOR MAN S SABBATH. 
 
 Then, forth they go, for now before the door 
 
 The short'ning' shadow marks the hour of nine ; 
 And by the broomy hill are coming o'er 
 
 Their village neighbours, glittering, clean and fine. 
 Upon the road, with neighbours, neighbours join. 
 
 And converse sweet beguiles the tedious way ;— 
 Some trace, in Nature's works, the hand Divine ; 
 
 Some through the flowery fields of Scripture stray. 
 And some, alas ! retail the nonsense of the day» 
 
 The sun burns bright — wide through the fervid air. 
 
 Of insect wings the hum unceasing flows ; 
 And stretched around, beneath th' oppressive glare. 
 
 The flowery field with dazzling splendour glows. 
 Adown the vale, beneath the shady boughs. 
 
 The herd seek shelter from the sultry beam j 
 Or under yon tall rock, that, rising, throws, 
 
 All hoary, through the trees a dusky gleam. 
 Their panting sides they lave deep in the silver stream. 
 
 The peaceful valley smiles — with wanton glee 
 
 The hare leaps, pla}'ful, in the broomy shade ; 
 And clear the wild-wood strains of liberty. 
 
 All rapt'rous, sweep along the sunny glade. 
 With eyes of jet, and swelling bosom red, 
 
 The little Robin, flutt'ring, flits on high. 
 The russet Wren, beneath the brushwood hid, 
 
 Patters unseen, or on the careless eye. 
 Gomes, like a falling leaf, in air light wavering hr. 
 
THE POOR man's SABBATH. 1^ 
 
 Sweet Nature's children ! these your haunts enjoy. 
 
 Nor yet, for me, one sportive round decline ; 
 No ruffian, I, your pleasures to destroy ; 
 
 No, brethren, no ! the God ye praise is mine. 
 But, ah! what bands approach with fell design^. 
 
 Their faces dark, with guilty horror brown ; 
 Nor song", nor service, is to them divhie. 
 
 Nor holy times, nor tender ties they own, 
 The base, degenerate dregs of yonder smoky town. 
 
 Within their bosoms quenched the light of Heaven, 
 
 In vain would Pity cross their guilty way ; 
 Tlie harmless creatures fly, in terror driven, 
 
 As, dark, they sweep along with ruthless sway. 
 The warbling Linnet drops the unfinished lay. 
 
 Frantic, to see her little nestlings torn 
 Forever from her eyes ; — ^fuU many a day. 
 
 With feathers ragged, drooping, all forlorn. 
 Her plaintive note shall flow from yonder milk white 
 thorn. 
 
 Nor there reposed, her woe-fraught strains in peace 
 
 Will cruelty allow her time to pour ; 
 Crashes the bush, wide floats its flowery fleece 
 
 As, aimed at her, resounds the stony shower :— - 
 Thus, oft the Bard, in silence, must endure 
 
 The prideful pelting of the ruffian throng ; 
 Who spurn his holy flame, his feelings pure 
 
 And armed in self-adoring maxims, strong 
 Despise the charms of ^vit, and energies of song. 
 
20 THE POOR man's SABBATH. 
 
 O ye, to whom indulg'ent Providence 
 
 Hath parcelled out this earth in portions fair. 
 Exert your power, keep strong the thorny fence, 
 
 And with the law's long- lash, intruders dare. 
 The Blackbird's song" shall well reward your care, 
 
 Amidst the dew-distilling months of Spring ; 
 Through Summer leafy, many a grateful pair 
 
 Shall cheer your lonely walks with social wing ; 
 Yea, there, through Winter wild, the Red-breast sweet 
 shall sing. 
 
 But now, at length, in view the church appears, 
 
 A Gothic pile, with moss-grown turi'ets gray. 
 The venerable work of other years, 
 
 Whom Timers swift lapse hath placed far away. 
 There, oft the sons, to prayer on such a day, 
 
 In troublous timesj the fathers fond have led, 
 Who, peaceful now, beneath the silent clay. 
 
 Lie with the congregation of the dead. 
 Their feet for ay from toil, their eyes from sorrow hid. 
 
 How solemn to the eye the scene appears 1 
 
 The yew — the porch, with pale Death's emblems 
 crowned. 
 And sable-railed, bedecked with pompous tears, 
 
 The rich men's tombs, that, gloomy, rise around ; 
 Of some, the smooth-hewn slab marks out the bound. 
 
 Preserving still the poor possessor's name. 
 Perhaps his years ; while level with the ground. 
 
 Many, by friendship mourned, unknown to fame, 
 Beneath, the gi-ass -green sod, no frail memorial claim. 
 
THE POOR man's SABBATH. 21 
 
 Here, wrapt in thought, the poor man wanders wild, 
 
 And dark, the days of other years return ; 
 For underneath that turf, his darling cliild. 
 
 His first-born son, lies in the mould'ring urn. 
 He heaves a sigh, his heart begins to burn — 
 
 The rough grey stone still marks his fav'rite's head ; 
 And o'er him, beauteous in the breath of morn. 
 
 To all her children, Nature's bounteous mead. 
 With scarlet gayly tipt, the lowly daisies spread. 
 
 Child of my love ! confessed before my eye 
 
 Thou standest, fair in all thy blooming grace ; 
 Wild on the wind thy sunny ringlets fly, 
 
 And dawning goodness brightens on thy face. 
 I see ! I see thee in the sportive race. 
 
 Lured by the bright son of the summer beam ;— 
 1 see thee, pantiag, drop the fruitless chase ; 
 
 For glittering, far adown the silver stream. 
 He floats on air away, as fades the nightly dream. 
 
 So faded thou !-— for never sportive more. 
 
 Bloated and black, upon the bed of pain 
 I see thee laid : — thy short, short span is o'er — 
 
 A moiu-nful proof that earth-born hopes are vaiit. 
 Yet, let me never pour the tear profane, — 
 
 Well hast thou 'scaped a wicked world of woe ; 
 The spurn of pride— Misfortune's driving rain, 
 
 And creeping chill, the baleful blast of snow. 
 From poverty's cold sky, hath never laid thee low. 
 B 2 
 
22 THE POOR man's SABBATH. 
 
 Thou hast not heard the child of deep distress, 
 
 In bitter anguish, pour the deathful groan,-— 
 Thou hast not seen, and yet couldst not redress. 
 
 Poor Misery, pining, friendless and alone. 
 Nor was it thine in sorrow to bemoan 
 
 A wandering childhood, and a wanton youth :— 
 Ere sin had gathered strength, lo ! thou wast gone. 
 
 Devotion's first note trembling in thy mouth, 
 Raptures for ay to drink before the throne of truth. 
 
 While thus he, pondering, pours the pious tear, 
 
 The congregation are assembled round, 
 And, widely echoed, swells upon his ear. 
 
 Of praise sublime, the sweetly solemn sound. 
 He joins to sing, with reverence profound, 
 
 Of God the power, the wisdom, and the grace. 
 Who, deep, impact, earth's strong foundations bound. 
 
 Heaved huge the hills, spread smooth the valley's 
 face. 
 And for the turbid deep barr'd strong the appointed place : 
 
 Who gives the Spring her robe of lightsome green, 
 
 Enwove with swelling buds and blooming flowers ; 
 And matron Summer's florid form to screen. 
 
 Umbrageous, hangs with leaves the woodland bowers ; 
 Who in the lap of widowed Autumn pours. 
 
 Rich, the collected treasures of the year. 
 And wings the sweeping blast, that angiy roars 
 
 Round the hoar hill, or through the forest sear. 
 When, drift-clad, Winter stalks in gousty darkness drear .- 
 
THE POOR MAN S SABBATH. -Jj» 
 
 Who in the storm, and in the pathless deep, 
 
 Mysterious, hath his unrevealed way ; 
 Whose fiat rolling worlds unnumbered keep. 
 
 And myriad hosts of Seraphim obey : 
 Who o'er the heavens, star-paved, can yet display 
 
 The curtains black of Horror's viewless throne ; 
 And ii he look on earth, in wild dismay 
 
 It, trembling, !ik,e the chased roe is gone. 
 Or silly, wandering sheep, whom no man cares to own ; 
 
 Who Zion's friend, her counsellor and king. 
 
 Hath glorious been, even from the times of old, 
 Watering her fields from life's clear-flowing springi 
 
 Whence all her blossoms burn with living gold : 
 Who back the Red Sea's roaring sui-ges roU'd, 
 
 When forth he led her from the land of slaves. 
 And, roused up, Egypt's dragon, blindly bold. 
 
 Pursued, presumptuous, through its pearly caves, 
 Till sunk, with all its pride, beneath the avenging 
 waves : 
 
 With cloud by day, by night with pillared flame. 
 
 Who in the howling desart was her guide ; 
 At whose command from dry rocks rivers came. 
 
 And foodful dews her daily bread supplied : 
 And glorious overshadowing far and wide, 
 
 Upon the mount of Ordinances seen, 
 WliOse name is still, — The Lord, who will provide 
 
 Strength for the weak, rich portions for the mean^ 
 W^th sanctifying grace for heai-ts and lips unclean. 
 
24 THE POOR MAN S SABBATH. 
 
 Then, slowly rising" suppliant, to heaven 
 
 The minister lifts up his hands on high ; 
 llich with the light that ages past have given, 
 
 The fires of genius brighten in his eye. 
 But on his brow sits meek humility, 
 
 Witli holy love, and awful reverence joined, 
 In siglitof Flim, who, bending from the sky. 
 
 Beholds the humble soul with aspect kind. 
 But still, contemptuous, spurns the self-elated mind. 
 
 By him, to God their joint petitions rise, 
 
 TJieir guilt, with deep contrition, they confess, 
 xVnd humbl;/ pray, that He would turn his eyes 
 
 Upon them, in the dear Redeemer's face; — 
 That face divine, that once in vile disgrace 
 
 Was marred, that guilty men might be restored 
 From Satan's grasp — from yawmng hell's embrace. 
 
 Once more to bear the likeness of their Lord, 
 And in a loftier strain His matchless love record : 
 
 That He, who still declares himself to be 
 
 Of life, the living, true, substantial bread; — 
 Bread for a starving world, and bread that he. 
 
 Who once partakes, no hunger more can dread,— 
 Would now in their assembly stand and feed. 
 
 In all the mig-ht and majesty of God ; 
 Adminisl'nng to Zion's sower, seed : 
 
 Breatliing of grace the fructifying cloud, 
 And waking, warm, to blow the south winds, soft, 
 abroad. 
 
THE POOR man's SABBATH. 25 
 
 And, as he stills the forest -rending- wind. 
 
 Of seas, and all their waves, the stormy roar ; 
 So, speak convictioft to the sinner's mind, 
 
 And bid corruption rage and rule no more : 
 And on the soul, in g-rief afflicted sore, 
 
 Temptation tossed, in darkness all forlorn. 
 The healing balm of consolation pour. 
 
 And rising-, bright, his pathway to adorn. 
 Give heavenly Hope, arrayed in all the hues of moni. 
 
 Prayer ended — now the Scripture page is read. 
 
 And brief expounded to the simple Hind, 
 How, by the Serpent's guileful speech betrayed, 
 
 Our first grand Parent from the truth declined ; 
 By one rash act, himself, yea, all mankind. 
 
 To sorrow, toil, and death, delivering o'er. 
 Hence, wide o'er earth diffused, the hateful mind i 
 
 Hence groans the leafy forest, tracked with goi-e ; 
 And hence, on wings of fire, wild wasting whirlwinds roar. 
 
 Hence, sad the little day of human life, 
 
 Perplexed with storms and cloudy darkness drear, 
 Is lost in empty wranglings, lawless strife, 
 
 Or, languid, damped with soul-subduing fear ; 
 While ever rises on the pensive ear 
 
 The bitter groan of unavailing woe. 
 The sigh, that ardent roams this lower sphere. 
 
 Haply to find where living waters fiow. 
 Yet grasping shadows dim, in folly's meteor glo\v. 
 B 4 
 
26 THE POOR man's SABBATH. 
 
 The wonderous love of God is then the theme, 
 
 A love which doth all knowledge far transcend 
 But which the meanest, trusting- in his name, 
 
 In some degree are taught to comprehend. 
 Whence came the Lowly One> the poor man's friend, 
 
 And from his lips snatched wrath's red cup of gall, 
 Which drinking, he had laboured witliout end. 
 
 In direful den, shut up stern Justice' thrall. 
 Debarred Hope's be&my ray, or soothhig Mercy*s call 
 
 But He, though lowering death stood interposed, 
 
 At one full draught the dregs unshrinking wrung 
 While round him fierce, in dreadful Phalanx closed. 
 
 Princedoms and powers, rulers of darkness strong, 
 Who saw him laid the long lost dead among. 
 
 And numbered him with malefactors vile, 
 Presuming to have marred for ay the song, 
 
 That soothed through life the weary mourner's toil, 
 And gave at death's dread hour bright hope's trium- 
 phant smile. 
 
 Presumption vain — although earth's marble doors 
 
 Were closed upon him with the seal of povver. 
 And, grimly, round a host vindictive lowers. 
 
 In gleamy steel, to make his prison sure. 
 No sooner was it come, the destined hour. 
 
 Than, Lord of life, self-vigorous he awakes ; 
 Angels attend, whose looks like flame devour. 
 
 Astonished earth, convulsive heaving, shakes, 
 And shrunk, each watcher's heart with death-like tenx)r 
 quakes. 
 
THE POOR man's SABBATH. ST 
 
 And gloriously triumphant, he came forth, 
 
 The spoils of death rejoicing in his train, 
 Heaven's broad seal thus upon his work and woith 
 
 Impressed — and thus declared his endless reign. 
 His right, the heavenly mansions to retain 
 
 In sure possession, as his people's head, 
 His power, their cruel spoilers to restrain. 
 
 And through the dreary dwelling of the dead, 
 To glory's splendid realms their feeble feet to lead, 
 
 ** Stranger to this consolatory hope ? 
 
 Beware the Atheist's hiss, the Sceptic's sneer ! 
 Here plain to all, save such as blindfold grope, 
 
 A future judgment-day is written clear. 
 Yes, sudden and tremendous shall appear. 
 
 Spread on the clouds of heaven, his burning throne ; 
 His voice shall yet resound in every ear 
 
 That fives, or e'er hath lived the earth upon ; 
 To him each knee shall bow, liim every tongue shall own. 
 
 ** That Jesus, now unworthy in your eyes. 
 
 How will ye meet when kindled is his ire ! 
 Wlien, conscience-roused, a dreadful fire shall rise. 
 
 And dash your souls with accusations dire ; 
 Creation burns immense, one sea of fire ! 
 
 Worlds, suns and systems, bui-st with boundless roar ! 
 Where will ye fly ? How will your dreams expire ? 
 
 Hurl'd down for ay your folly to deplore. 
 Where, hoarse, the waves of wrath still dash the sullen 
 shore 
 
28 THE POOR man's sabbath. 
 
 *' To you in vain shall brighter worMs arise ; 
 
 These worlds, alas ! ye never can possess ; 
 Unspotted suns, and storm-untroubled skies, 
 
 Shall never beam upon unrighteousness. 
 O ! listen, while he stands with peaceful voice. 
 
 The great atoning High Priest full in view ; 
 His precious blood, his sanctif}-ing grace. 
 
 He proffers free, with admonitions due 
 To faith, repentance, love and prompt obedience new.'' 
 
 The preacher thus, with that beceming air. 
 
 Subjects so awfully sublime require. 
 Conjures his audience all, witli many a tear. 
 
 To 'scape the vengeance of eternal fire. 
 To rest on God, who is the warm desire 
 
 Of those that fear him, faithful to fulfil ; 
 Who oft to rapture tunes the mourner's lyre, 
 
 Even when the rain of sorrow, falling chill, 
 Hath drench'd the flowers of liope that bloom on faiili'.« 
 green hill. 
 
 The sermon closed — again in prayer they join ; 
 
 Prayer not preferr'd for sordid selfish ends : 
 But, drinking at the fount of I-ove Divine, 
 
 Wide as the world, their so\ils' warm wish extends, 
 And sweet, the grand prophetic song- ascends : — 
 
 *' Mercy is built forever firm and sure. 
 On God her strong stability depends, 
 
 And still lier seed brought forth refined and purr.. 
 Shall, as the sun in heaven, from age to age endnrtJ" 
 
THE POOR man's SABBATH. 29 
 
 Now westward driving* far, with prone career. 
 
 The red-hair'd sun rolls on his fiery road s 
 Gay, golden hues the green-topp'd mountains wear, 
 
 And deeper shades invest the waving wood- 
 When closed the sacred work, they come abroad, 
 
 Devoutly raised to holy rapture some ; 
 Some pond'ring dark, thefix'd decrees of God, 
 
 His awful wrath, the sinner's final doom. 
 With all the shadowy shapes that frown behind the 
 tomb. 
 
 Ah ! Christian, cease ! these dangerous themes forbear, 
 
 Or farewell, hope ! farewell, departing joy ! 
 There, Frenzy wild, a legion in her rear 
 
 Of phantoms fell, lies lurking to destroy. 
 Surrounded once, in vain shalt thou employ 
 
 Thy powers, to force her dark entrenchments strong -, 
 "No art can soothe, no argument annoy 
 
 Her baleful train, that thick and thicker throng. 
 Till crush'd, thy reason falls, in darkness stretch'd along. 
 
 Mark, yonder, where the bean-field fragrant blooms, 
 
 Diffusing grateful odours all around, 
 Woeful and wan the poor Alexis roams, 
 
 Within her mazy fetters mournful bound 
 His looks are ever fixed on the ground, 
 
 Despair's dark tear dim glistens in his eye ; 
 Now he stops short, now starts widi sudden bound. 
 
 While, from his bosom bursts tiie rending sigli, 
 And hell and horror still accent his wailine- cm- 
 
30 THE POOR MAN S SABBATH. 
 
 Upon his faded form, and gestures wild, 
 
 The lowing heifer stares with wondering gaze ; 
 And o'er him, sweet Devotion's ruin'd child, ' 
 
 Th' unconscious warbler mends his love-taught lays ; 
 The lark, descending in the sunny rays, 
 
 Bends down the flowery turf with slender feet, 
 His speckled breast, his rising plume displays. 
 
 The gently-breathing balmy breeze to meet. 
 And pours his raptur'd soul in warbiings wildly sweet. 
 
 But what are warbling birds, or flowery fields. 
 
 To him whose heart stills bleeds, whose spirit grieves ; 
 Say, what the joy a smiling prospect yields, 
 
 When grim despair the web of terror weaves ! 
 '* Sing on," Alexis cries, "your happy lives. 
 
 Ye birds, are pure ; arise on spotless wing ; 
 Spurn earth, vile earth ! 'tis but a place of graves ; 
 
 Ah ! why should death your gentle bosoms wring ? 
 'Tis I— poor wretched I, have farged the fatal sting, 
 
 "' Thy fires, O Vengeance ! in what corner hid ? 
 
 Tliy victim, 1 thy speedy act implore ! 
 Why hangs thy red bolt, Justice, o'er my head 1 
 
 Exact thy due, and I shall be no more. 
 In vain I call ! those skies must ever lower ! 
 
 This dreadful shade. Remorse, still crush me down ! 
 Mercy, Mercy ! is thy season o'er ? 
 
 Will God forever, thus in anger frown. 
 And stalking terrors guard all access to his throne ? 
 
THE POOR MAN S SABBATH. 31 
 
 •* Yes, still to me — / see the dark decree. 
 
 Firm as the pillars of the eternal throne! 
 O Hope, sweet Hope ! on all thy flowery tree 
 
 No blossom blows, to ease my dying- groan." 
 Thus hapless, day by day, his life glides on : 
 
 Not so where Reason aids Tieligion's reign ; 
 There, though the tempest howl, fair Hope, anon. 
 
 Far beaming, brightens Faith's immense domain, 
 Where free the soul expands, exults, and smiles serene 
 
 From church return'd, our simple Cotter see. 
 
 His babes around him innocently smile ; 
 His Spouse, with looks of kind complacency, 
 
 Hastes to present again the frugal meal. 
 And as they eat, what text was read he'll tell ; 
 
 What doctrines thence adduced, what sins reproved. 
 What motives given to cherish holy zeal. 
 
 What charming views to faith of her beloved. 
 And arms, wherewith to stand, in fiery storm, unmoved. 
 
 To him, their guide, they lend a willing ear. 
 
 While he, at large, instructs them as he can, 
 The path of truth to tread, their God to fear. 
 
 And thus fulfil the great design of man. 
 Nor sneer ye Sages . though unfit to scan 
 
 Your systems, jarring, intricate, and wild ; 
 Some ])recious outlines of salvation's plan — 
 
 How man, far, far from happiness exiled. 
 By grace may be restored, he yet can teach his child. 
 
32 THE POOR MAN S SABBATH. 
 
 Hence, from the mouth of babes, the song of praise 
 
 Ascends to heaven at eve, or dewy morn ; 
 Hence, honest Honour, with unborrow'd rays, 
 
 In humble Ufe the meanest may adorn. 
 Yes, oft the Hind, thus taught, can laugh to scorn 
 
 The varnish'd vices of the vulgar great. 
 And on the wings of Faith and Reason borae, 
 
 Soar far beyond the barriers of his state, 
 To blessings changing oft the rigours of his fate. 
 
 Parental teaching closed with fam'ly prayer, 
 
 Each seeks, for soft repose, the peaceful bed. 
 The Sire except, who, by tlie evening fair. 
 
 To muse along the greenwood side is led. 
 The setting sun, in robes of crimson red, 
 
 And purple gorgeous, clothes the glowing v/est ; 
 While sober Eve, in misty mantle clad, 
 
 One bright star, lovely, beaming on her breast, 
 With feet all bathed in dew, comes slowly from the east. 
 
 Now closed, the daisy droops its dewy head, 
 
 Hush'd are the woods, the breathing fields are still j 
 And soft beneath the meadow's flowery pride. 
 
 Creeps, gurgling on its waj^^, the mossy rill. 
 Sublimely solemn rolls the mingling swell. 
 
 At times, with many a mournful pause between. 
 Of streams, wild rushing down the sounding dell, 
 
 Of voices bursting wild from shapes unseen, 
 And flocks that distant bleaty far o'er the flowery greea 
 
THE POOR MAN S SABBATHr .>o 
 
 Fast follows on the cloud of night's dark noon, 
 
 And bright the fires of heaven begin to blaze ; 
 While o'er the misty mountain's head, the moon, 
 
 Pours, in a streaming flood, her silver rays. 
 White, on the pool, her radiance flickering plays. 
 
 Where shadows, faintly glimmering, shadows mar ; 
 And clear, the cottage window, to the gaze 
 
 Of solitary wanderer, gleaming far 
 tip yonder green hill side, appears a glittering star. 
 
 The poor man here, in converse with the sky, 
 
 Ijone, o'er the uplands holds his wandering way i 
 His bosom swells, he heaves the frequent sigh. 
 
 And tears start sudden, ere he well knows why. 
 'Tis nature melts him — verging to decay, 
 
 Through all her works, she pours the weary groan ; 
 Even now, by faith, he hails th' eventful day — 
 
 He hears the trump of God, the great white throne 
 Is raised. Creation melts, lo ! Heaven and earth are gone- 
 
 "And thou, my soul!" he cries, **shalt thou survive. 
 
 When, quench'd in years, these living fires shall fade ; 
 Yes, in immortal vigour thou shalt live, 
 
 And soar and sing when ev'ry star is fled. 
 For so hath God— God thy Redeemer said : 
 
 A higher song than seraph's shall be thine. 
 Yea, though in mould'ring clay this flesh be laid. 
 
 These verj' lips, with energy divine, 
 Heaven's high resounding harp in holy hymns shall join- 
 
34 THE POOR man's SABBATH. 
 
 " To God, forever let thy song ascend, 
 
 Though stormy howlings sweep thy rugged path ; 
 Though weepmg Woe thy straighten'd steps attend. 
 
 And Sin thy green leaves soil with burning breath ; 
 There yet remains a rest reveal'd to faith, 
 
 A rest from sin and all its dire distress ; 
 A Sabbath sweet, beyond the realms of Death, 
 
 Bright with the beams of God's all-gracious face, 
 The gift of sovereign love, the rich reward of grace." 
 
 Sooth'd with this sweet idea, he retires, 
 
 His brow serene with calm Contentment's smile. 
 To rest, till ruddy morning's glowing fires 
 
 Again awake him to his weekly toil. 
 Fountain of Good ! grant me to keep, the while 
 
 My span extends, thy Sabbaths thus alway ; 
 My reason clear, my spirit free from guile : 
 
 / nd of thy light still slied a purer ray. 
 Till glor)''s sun arise in bright refulgent day. 
 
POEMS. 
 
THJEfollotving Poems, it is presumed, do not 
 require any particular prefatory illustratton. 
 Should any object, that the Author^ s individual 
 feelings and pursuits are rather too frequently 
 introduced, — he is fully seTvsible thai if his apology 
 cannot be found in the occasions upon which they 
 were composed, any thing he might here say in 
 extenuation could have but little effect. He has 
 attempted to describe as he felt ; but of the 
 strength or the accuracy of the description, he 
 presumes not to judge : the reader will determiiie 
 for himself. If he has in any instance violated 
 moral propriety , or attempted to awaken feelings 
 incompatible with Christian meekness and resig- 
 nation, he is truly sorry ; and where such an 
 instance occurs, seeing it consists not with his 
 knowledge, he hopes the reader'* s sympathy %mll 
 at least keep pace with his censure. 
 
TO 
 
 LABOUR. 
 
 J^ORD of the brawny limbs, the shoulder broad. 
 The weather-beaten look, the hand of horn. 
 
 Still let thy presence bless my low abode. 
 And sleepy sloth, with all her dreams, I scorn. 
 
 EnrolPd among the sons of servile toil 
 Ere yet my seventh year was fairly fled, 
 
 And still, though far be Fortune's easy smile, 
 With thee I gTateful eat my daily bread. 
 
 Thy sober gait let tinsel'd fops deride. 
 
 Vile canker worms, that waste a nation's health ; 
 
 Thou art my pleasure, and thou art my pride. 
 Meek vu'tue's guardian, and the guide to wealth. 
 
38 
 
 TO LABOUR. 
 
 Thine is tlie slumber sound, the tranquil mind, 
 From dreaming" fear and frenzied fancy far ; 
 
 Thine all the peaceful arts that bless mankind, 
 And thine the dreadful thunderbolts of war. 
 
 Commerce by thee, her swelling' sails unfurled. 
 Through trackless oceans arduous ploughs her way ; 
 
 And, linking in her golden chain the world. 
 Brings every social virtue into play. 
 
 Dreadful by thee, where e*er the roUing waves 
 Are restless heav'd against the rising shore ; 
 
 The pride of freemen, and the dread of slaves, 
 Britannia bids her naval thunders roar. 
 
 In humble life, with Liberty thy guide. 
 Thou competence assurest to the swain ! 
 
 While light Content bljthe frolics by thy side. 
 And Innocence, with all her white-rob'd train, 
 
 Happy with thee, I round the circling year 
 Have walk'd at harrow harsh, or weary plougha 
 
 Still pleased my eye, or soothed my ravish'd ear. 
 And danced my heait to nature's rapt'rous glow. 
 
 1 
 
TO LABOUR. 39 
 
 How sweet, with thee, to hail the len^hening day, 
 When gentle Spring awakes the sleeping flower, 
 
 And the blythe laverock trills his lively lay, 
 Tliougli stinted oft by hail or sleety shower ! 
 
 And sweet, with thee, to mark the kindling dawn 
 With fluid gold the mountain -tops illume; 
 
 While on the west winds, o'er the dewy lawn, 
 
 The gladsome Summer bi-eathes her rich perfume. 
 
 Nor less the pleasure, when the falling year. 
 The fading woods, the breezy morning chill. 
 
 Draws from the pensive peasant's eye the tearj 
 As 'lone he toils around the silent hill. 
 
 And when, in darkness, settled on the heath. 
 The stream, presageful, dashing down the dell ; 
 
 Or, in his drifty robe, aroused in wrath. 
 
 Wild Winter rides the air with dismal yell : 
 
 Sweet is thy call, In peaceful barn, secure 
 From the rude olast, the sounding flail to wield ; 
 
 While, in the heaps that foodful swell the floor. 
 Are lost the horrors of the joyless field. 
 
40 TO LABOUR. 
 
 And now, though far from all these happy scenes, 
 That ne'er can cease to heave my swelling heart, 
 
 With thee, in city pent, I draw the means 
 Of hfe among the sickly sons of ART ; 
 
 Complaint I scorn, although the silver moon, 
 That wont erewhile my nightly way to cheer, 
 
 Dim in the crowded alleys of the town. 
 Through dust and smoke a bloody globe appear. 
 
 Though purling streams no rixore attract my car, 
 
 Nor merle's soft song, that e'en despair might charm ; 
 
 Though rich, the glories of the rural year. 
 No more my breast with rising raptures warm ; 
 
 While Love delights to wave his purple wings. 
 With playful peace to cheer my fireside ; 
 
 And my rude lyre bold independence istrings. 
 Thou art my pleasure, and thou art, my pride. 
 
i 
 
 HEARING A DECLAMATION 
 
 EVANGELICAL POETRY. 
 
 i\.H ! Folly, wilt thou never cease to prate ! 
 
 Rank venom oozing- from thy serpent tongue. 
 That still with subtle wit, with sapience great, 
 
 And learned lore affectest to be hung ? 
 
 When will the countless multitudes undone. 
 Bubbled by tliee of aught like solid joy, 
 
 Teach man thy baleful eloquence to shun. 
 That charms to cheat, and dazzleg to destroy/ 
 
42 VERSES, Sec. 
 
 With burnini^ zeal and unabating- toil. 
 
 In every walk of life thou roam'st abroad ; 
 
 But chief o*er all, thy aim is to beguile 
 The soul of all dependence on her God, 
 
 In thy opinion, nothing half so poor 
 
 As speak of man depraved, of saving grace ; 
 
 Faith, in thy creed, must turn her to the door, 
 And starched Morality take up her place. 
 
 Hence, should a good man openly express. 
 In Scripture-style, the feelings of his soul. 
 
 Thy v/rath is quickly up, 'tis all grimace, — 
 A long close coat to hide intentions foul. 
 
 Heace, Frenzy draws from thee her dev*lish dreams^ 
 And Sophistry, thy child, her cobweb chains, 
 
 And, puddled, hence Delusion's frothy streams, 
 Come, shallow, roaring from distemper'd brains. 
 
 Whence is it thac the brutish gods of Greece, 
 Wicked confess'd, yet obstinately strong. 
 
 Each muse defiling, and each sacred place, 
 So long have ruled the rich realms of song ? 
 
VERSES, &C. 43 
 
 And, clamorous, when at len^h the voice of scorn 
 Hissed of a part, to seek their native hell. 
 
 And under rising Reason's beamy morn. 
 Into thin air their tents of thousands fell ;— 
 
 Whence was it, that upon these fields of light, 
 
 Grim godless ghosts, grey mists, and meteors green, 
 
 With stormy spirits on the wing of night, 
 
 Portentious all, in deepening cleuds were seen ? 
 
 Whence but from thee ! lest in her gorgeous glow. 
 Sublime descending from her native sphere, 
 
 Truth there might give the flowers of heaven to blow. 
 And rich, the streams of life to murmur clear. 
 
 Where, drinking deep, the enthusiast had been made 
 
 To see a world he never saw before ; 
 And, up through nature rising, had been led 
 
 The God of grace by Jesus to adore. 
 
 For, ah ! if never purged the me«ital eye 
 From the dark films of ignorance and sin ; 
 
 If guilt still heavy on the conscience lie. 
 And wayw^ard passion rage and rule within ; 
 e4 
 
44 VERSESj he. 
 
 What is the landscape bold with hill and dale. 
 Tufted with groves, enriched with dimpling streatijs,, 
 
 Though plenty linger on the dying gale, 
 
 And o*er it heaven diffuse its brightest beams ? 
 
 Though clothed with lowing herds and nibbling flocks, 
 And shepherds laid by every osier'd rill ; 
 
 Though rich with honey hang the clit'ted rocks, 
 And one wild hum the deptlis of ether fill ? 
 
 Though, incense. fraught, the clouds salubrious rise 
 From breathing meadows milk-white to the \iewt 
 
 Or stretcliing far beneath unspotted skies. 
 Like fluid gold engera'd with silver dew I 
 
 His eye may, brute -like, roam the goodly scene. 
 
 And, thrilled, his nerves confess the powerful chami ; 
 
 But should reflection, drowsj-, wake within. 
 His secret soul will shake with wild alarm. 
 
 It speaks a power, wliicli, if he sees, he dreads i 
 
 A purity^ he cannot but abhor ; 
 A mercy, but a mercy which provides 
 
 For alienated man no opening doer. 
 
VERSES, Sec. 
 
 In vain to lum the Book of Providence 
 
 Is every day unfolding- to the view ; 
 Along the lines he cast a casual glance. 
 
 And in the whole discovers nothing new. 
 
 Ill all the records of the human race, 
 
 Where, pictured, rise the deeds of other times, 
 
 His eye no line of prominence can trace, 
 
 Save human sufferings, caused by human crimes. 
 
 But he, who in the soul-reviving dews 
 
 Of Ziou hatli been taught at large to roam. 
 
 Of life's green tree the healing leaves to use. 
 Rich Gilead's balm, and Sharon's high perfume ;- 
 
 Sublimed, his visive powers, where'er they turn, 
 Discover something to the world unknown. 
 
 Some beam, that wakes the fires of love to burn. 
 Some good, that faith appropriates as its own. 
 
 A God, be hears in every passing wind ; 
 
 A God, how good! he marks in every flower; 
 A God, how great ! before him and behiad, 
 
 Who wings with joy or grief the rising hour*, 
 c 5 
 
45 VERSES, h.C, 
 
 Henccj every gift to him is doubly dear. 
 With blessings following-, secret, in its train ; 
 
 Hence, lowering skies a milder aspect wear, 
 And sorrow soothed is eased of half her pain. 
 
 Hence, backward on the cloudy tract of time 
 Clear Reason, retrospective, turns her eye, 
 
 And ruling- plots, restraining wrath, sublime, 
 God's hand is seen to be exceeding high. 
 
 Yea, hence, when dread the throne of Nature reels, 
 Enveloped dark in clouds and smouldering flame.^ 
 
 Safe in his arms the meek believer feels, 
 
 Who errs not, and whose love is still the same ; 
 
 Who will before unnumbered worlds unfold. 
 At last assembled glorious round his throne, 
 
 Of Providence the hidden windings bold. 
 
 And all shall own the whole was wisely done* 
 
 Whate'er is thine, forever be it mine. 
 
 The grace through blessed Jesus to commendj^. 
 
 His praise to swell in every flowing line. 
 And, trusting in him, life at last to end. 
 
NOVEMBER. 
 
 i^ovEMBER, hall ! thy look of woe, 
 Thy thin locks fleckered o'er with snow, 
 I prize above the garish glow 
 Of florid mirth and revehy. 
 
 Though no gay warblers hall thy morn. 
 Nor genial dew-drops gem the thorn, 
 Nor sunny flowers the vale adorn, 
 Profuse, in wild variety. 
 
 Afar, upon the hoar}' hill. 
 My wandering feet shall meet thee stiii ; 
 While loud the wild winds, raving chill. 
 Pipe strange tlieir mournful melody. 
 
TO NOVEMBEB.. 
 
 Compared with thy swoln torrents* roar. 
 Or deep, thy billow-breakuig shore, 
 Soft summer airs, how weak, how pooi*. 
 In all their wanton gaiety [ 
 
 Before thy wan-dejected eye. 
 The visions light of Folly fly ; 
 And ever-pensive hovering nigh 
 Is weeping Pity found to be ; 
 
 By little wren, in russet coat, 
 Destraining wild her tuneful throat 
 Assisted by the red-breast's note. 
 In unison so pensively. 
 
 In lonely dell, oh ! who can hear 
 The dirge for the departing year 
 Perform'd beneath the last leaf sear. 
 Nor feel tlie glow of sympathy ; 
 
 Or, who the tuneful tribes can mark. 
 The Untie, merle, or soaring lark, 
 Discordant chattering, dull and dark. 
 Beneath thy harsh severity ; 
 
TO NOVEMBER. 49 
 
 Or rising weak, pale, modest, pure. 
 Sore chill*d beneath the sleety shower. 
 In faded field, the lingering flower. 
 Nor feel for pain and poverty ? 
 
 Thy naked fields, thy leafless trees. 
 Sad sobbing to the swelling breeze. 
 Speak loud of age and thine disease. 
 That lead to dark mortality. 
 
 Of driving hoarse, in wrath severe. 
 Thy storms, unreign'd, destroy the year; 
 And oft on snowhills, rising drear. 
 Thou sitt'st in dread sublimity! 
 
 Thus Age, full oUjwith dismal lower. 
 And sullen Want, with visage sour, 
 Drive fierce upon their victim poor. 
 The whelming tide of misery. 
 
 Yet often too thou canst display, 
 I'hough short, a warm and lively day, 
 That sweetly gradual melts away, 
 With pleasing soft sobriety. 
 
50 TO «rOVEMBERw 
 
 Kind Heaven \ my roots to tear at last. 
 Give not the rudely-roaring blast, 
 While fix'd in earth, yet firm and fast, 
 They cling with strange tenacity ; 
 
 But, like November's melting day. 
 Thus, gradual, let my strength decay ; 
 Then lift me soft at length away. 
 Unknown to pain, or penury. 
 
 And, musing pensive, while I hail, 
 November, slow thy mournful wail ; 
 Let reason wake, let hope prevail. 
 Borne into bright futurity. 
 
 The falling year, though thus decay'd. 
 Her vigour gone, her verdure fled. 
 In thy cold mantle helpless laid. 
 Midst dread severity — 
 
 Shall, at the gladsome voice of Spring, 
 With strength renew'd, awake and sing, 
 AVhile west-winds shake the balmy wing- 
 O'er valley green and leafy tree. 
 
TO NOVEMBER. 51 
 
 l.et Faith divine ! thus through the gloom, 
 That shadowy overhangs the tomb. 
 See rising bright in purple bloom. 
 The morn of Immortality ! 
 
 So life's November drav\'ing near, 
 My spirit unappall'd may h^ar. 
 In hope to change time's prospects drear 
 For raptures through eternity. 
 
DIRGE, 
 
 TO A PERSON WHO LAMENTED THAT HfO MONUMENT 
 HAD BEEN ERECTED ON THE GRAVE OF 
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 
 
 Wh 
 
 HY sigh'st thou, my friend ! for a monument great. 
 To point where the poet fills, cold, the clay urn; 
 Whom nature profuse, in a joeasant's estate, 
 
 Gave with all the bold ardour of genius to bum ? 
 Ureat in sight-soothing green, still the spot shall be 
 shown. 
 And a tear to bedew it each swain shall bestow. 
 While, sad, he laments that by folly undone. 
 In the cold tomb he lies, all untimely laid low ! 
 
 While Winter hangs, hoary, with craneuch the thora, 
 W^hile gowans glint through tlie green gai'ment of 
 Ma}', 
 While the sweet-smiling June the gay rose-buds adorn, 
 And o'er ripe fields of corn, while September winds 
 play. 
 
54 DIRGE, &e. 
 
 His powers of description each bosom shall own, 
 Consenting emotions their wonder shall show ; 
 
 But the sigh shall be heard, for, by folly undone. 
 In the cold tomb he lies, all untimely laid low ! 
 
 And while Liberty deigns to make glad our green isle, 
 
 And the bold Briton drinks at her clear-flowing 
 stream. 
 When roused by the coward insults of the vile. 
 
 His anger is up, and his arms dreadful gleam ! 
 Then the strength of the strains of our Bard shall be 
 known. 
 
 In a torrent of fire it shall burst on the foe ! 
 But the hero shall weep ; for, by folly undone. 
 
 In the cold tomb he lies, aU untimely laid low I 
 
 While the trust of the poor man is placed upon heaven* 
 
 While devotion the breasts of the wise can inspire. 
 While to virtue and calm contemplation is givea 
 
 In his works the Creator to see and admire ; 
 His **Cottar" shall live — But the good shall bemoan, 
 
 And the warm tear of pity unceasing shall flow ; 
 For by error bewilder'd, by folly undone, 
 
 In the cold tomb he lies, all untimely laid low ! 
 
VISITING SOME SCENES OF MY YOUTH. 
 
 iScENEs of love and peaceful joy, 
 Where, a simple ^epherd boy. 
 Far from pining Care's annoy. 
 Light ray days were wont to flee ? 
 
 Far although my steps have been 
 In pursuit of pleasure keenj 
 Skies so clear, and fields so green, 
 Never yet have dawned on me. 
 
 Round whene'er I turn my eyes. 
 Linked by strange mysterious ties. 
 Scenes of youthful transport rise, 
 Fair in sweet simplicity. 
 
ON VISITING SOME 
 
 Wimpling down the green-swaird hill 
 Overhung with wild-flowers still. 
 From its fount the crystal rill 
 Murmurs sweetest melody. 
 
 Blooms the bank, with gowans gay, 
 Edged with scroggy willows gray, 
 Where my flock at falling day 
 Used to pasture pleasantly. 
 
 Rises still the rough grey stone. 
 Where I marked the evening sun, 
 Splendors burning round his throne j 
 Set in glorious majesty. 
 
 Still tlie willow-shaded stream. 
 Dim, emits a smoky gleam, 
 Where full oft the pageant dream 
 Steeped roy soul in ecstasy. 
 
 Wai'med, 1 mark the bleak blown hill. 
 Where autumnal breezes chill. 
 In my breast the melting tlu-ill. 
 Waked so soft, so pensively ; 
 
SCENES OF MY YOUTH. 57 
 
 Where, at easy leisure laid, 
 In the thrash-bush sighing- shade. 
 Rapt, in Henry's Lays, I read 
 Wallace* peerless chivalry ; 
 
 Till, unfelt my station poor, 
 Hid my '* destiny obscure," 
 Fancy burned for manhood's hour, 
 Great like him renowned to be. 
 
 For my lot in desart placed. 
 Running all my days to waste. 
 Yet no gloomy thought had traced 
 In the hues of misery. 
 
 Light I hailed the joyous team. 
 Light J beneath October's beam. 
 Marked the sickle's dewy gleam. 
 Cheered with jest and jollity. 
 
 Finding then, nor fearing guile. 
 Soothing soft my little toil. 
 Every face, with friendly smile, 
 
 Beamed in kind complacency. 
 
 1^2 
 
•N VISITING SOME 
 
 Time ! relentless and severe ! 
 Driving still with harsh career. 
 Proofs most strong are written herfe 
 Of thy mutability. 
 
 All unknowing and unsown. 
 
 Here 1 find to mark me none, 
 
 Save where jealousy looks on. 
 
 Dreading secret villainy. 
 
 Blue the smoke as heretofore. 
 Wreathing, curls the green trees o'er j 
 But the hospitable door 
 Opens not to welcome me. 
 
 Never more shall meet me there, 
 She, who to the mistress' air. 
 Watchful, joined a mother's care, 
 Still so soft, so tenderly : 
 
 No— in solenm silence laid. 
 Low she rests among the dead. 
 From the storms forever hid. 
 Dark, that dim mortality. 
 
SCENES OF MY YOUTH. 59 
 
 And upon the very spot. 
 Where was cast her active lot. 
 Passed her deeds — her worth forgot. 
 Perished even her memory. 
 
 Spirit pure ! in bliss divine ! 
 Vain the attempt for verse of mine 
 Here tliy virtues to enshrine. 
 Child of meek humility ! 
 
 Yet, to fame if worth impart 
 
 Title true, thy feeling heart. 
 
 Manners pure devoid of art. 
 
 Justly claim celebrity. 
 
 Ne'er can I forget the hours. 
 Closed upon the storm the doorsj 
 When, unlocked, thy mental stores 
 Streamed with sage garrulity ; 
 
 Touching many an ancient say. 
 Useful for life's troublous day. 
 Many a precious roundelay. 
 Many a tale of piety ; 
 
60 ON VISITING, &C. 
 
 Tiien, engaged, my thoughtless youth 
 Caught spontaneous from thy mouth, 
 Warm, the rapt'rous strains of truth. 
 Rich, that glad eternity. 
 
 Scenes beloved ! a last adieu ! 
 Oft shall fancy turn to you, 
 Marking morn her silver dew 
 Shower in mild serenity ; 
 
 And in pure autumnal sky. 
 Warm, the great sun blazing high. 
 While the red moor's purple dye 
 Streams around most gorgeously. 
 
 1111, sublimed, my spirit rise 
 Far above these shifting skies, 
 Where created beauty dies. 
 Lost in vast infinity. 
 
TO 
 
 THE BLACKBIRD, 
 
 IN WINTER, 1799. 
 
 Sweetest Minstrel of the grove.! 
 Whither heedless dost thou rove ? 
 Urged by want, alas ! to prove 
 Man's unfeeling treachery. 
 
 Late thy voice, what time the dawn 
 Kindled o*er the dewy lawn, 
 Or her curtains eve had drawn, 
 Poured the stream of melody. 
 
 Now, within thy leafless bower. 
 
 Stilly silence sits demure. 
 
 Save when cold the sleety shower 
 
 Wakes the howl of misery. 
 
 D 4 
 
62 TO THE BLACKBIRD. 
 
 Winter pale, with lowering eye, 
 Beaming from the clear blue sky, 
 Snowhills round thee heaving high. 
 Damp thy love of liberty. 
 
 Owrie by the pathway side. 
 Lone, I mark thee wandering wide. 
 Waiting haply to provide 
 For thy pinching penury ; 
 
 While the clown, in shooting graith. 
 Points at thee the leaden death ; 
 Or, concealed in hungry wrath, 
 Badrons marks thee feebly flee. 
 
 Sweepings from the cottage door, 
 Winnowings from the thrashing fioor, 
 Life to save, a morsel poor 
 Lords of earth deny to thee. 
 
 Or if this be, free, thy fare, 
 I^ thy simple feet beware. 
 Lest, concealed, the wavy snare 
 Yawn with base duplicity j 
 
TO THE BLACKBIRD. 
 
 Caught in which, thy wings are vain, 
 Vain thy sorrow-soothing strain ; 
 Sold for sordid love of gain. 
 Death alone shall set thee free. 
 
 For my heart is pained to tell, 
 0*er misfortune's victim fell 
 Woe's full tide will ever swell. 
 Roused by selfish villainy. 
 
 Pleasure's soft and sunny bower 
 Every heart to charm has power. 
 But the cold look, sullen, sour. 
 Waits on poor necessity. 
 
 Ah ! how many now engage. 
 Lonely 'midst the winds of age, 
 Fierce, in unrelenting rage. 
 Scorn, neglect, and poverty. 
 
 Matched with such, thy state how blest ; 
 Spring, arrayed in flowery vest. 
 Soon shall heave thy throbbing breast 
 With its wonted gaiety. 
 
 T> 5 
 
U4 TO THE BLACKBIRD. 
 
 But the heart once rudely torn. 
 Deep with cares and sorrows worn. 
 Bright, the joy-renewing morn, 
 Here can never hope to see. 
 
 All its wish is to be laid 
 With the long forgotten dead. 
 Where, until these heavens are fied, 
 Slumbers shall unbroken be. 
 
APRIL, 1808. 
 
 W HY, April, thus clouded in woe coniest thou forth, 
 
 With aspect so wintry and drear. 
 While, roaring around thee, the winds of the north. 
 Fill our hearts with amazement and fear ? 
 
 Thy che^ once so rosy, in soft dimples drest, 
 
 As sickly December is pale ; 
 The cold zone of January binds up thy breast, 
 
 And thy locks rattle stiff to the gale ; 
 
 The cowslip, that wont gay to gi-ace thy green steps. 
 
 Shrinks back from thy cold icy tread ; 
 And clamour discordant the lone forest keeps, 
 
 For the loves from thy presence have fled. 
 
66 TO APRIL. 
 
 Even the lark, lofty soaring-, in ecstasy high, 
 
 Accustomed thy welcome to sing, 
 Desponding and feeble drops down from the sky, 
 
 While the craneuch hangs hoar on his wing. 
 
 By thy hoai'se voice aroused, all the months of the year 
 
 Thy progress with terror attend, 
 And the meek eye of Autumn is dim with a tear. 
 
 Lest famine be hers in the end. 
 
 Ah ! where are thy west winds, thy soft sunny showers 
 Which erst we have felt and have seen ; 
 
 Thy balm-breathing buds, and thy gay spreading flowers» 
 That were wont to enamel the green ? 
 
 O, April, relent ! — o'er the glebe and the grove 
 
 Thy life-cheering lustre display, 
 And full in glad chorus let rapture and love 
 
 Enliven the clear sunny day. 
 
 So Labour, unceasing, his path shall pursue, 
 
 While ardour illumines his eye : 
 And Hope's sunny visions, expanding in view. 
 
 Awake him to ecstasy high. 
 
TO APRIL. 67 
 
 So, richly embroidered, her robe of green leaves 
 
 Shall Summer as usual display. 
 And, laden with fruit, yellow Autumn her sheaves 
 
 Shall build up in g-oodly array. 
 
 So, hirpling and hoary, to shut up the year. 
 
 When Winter shall, lowering-, attend, 
 His grim face the poor man shall mark without fear, 
 
 Seeuig Plenty stands by as his friend. 
 
 O'er his humble-roofed home while the rude winds arc 
 roaring. 
 And labour the season denies. 
 The fields of Content with devotion exploring, 
 
 His converse shall be with the skies ; 
 
 m 
 
 Till balmy the west winds, tlie brown spatting thows 
 
 0*er the stern bands of Winter prevail, 
 And lead him again with the gay whii^tling ploughs, 
 
 Thy coming, sweet April, to hail. 
 
PSALM 137. 
 
 In reading the lo7th Psalm, the author has often recoU 
 lected the " Flowers of the Forest ;" and fancying a 
 similarity, however remote they may be in some points 
 9f vi^o, between the Bards^ each bewailing the ruin 
 of his-, country, he imagined their feelings might fitly 
 finw in the same exquisite air. Tinder this idea the 
 following version has been attempted. 
 
 JBy the clear streams of Babel, in woe we sat weeping? 
 
 When the low state of Zion arose on our minds ; 
 Our harps, once so tuneful, in dread silence sleeping-, 
 
 On the green willow trees idly wav^d in the winds : 
 For, scoffing, our cruel despoilers reqiured 
 
 The clamour of mirth, and the words of a song j 
 Even a song that had often, by rapture inspired^ 
 
 ■Re-echoed the green groves of Salem among > 
 
TO PSALM 137. 
 
 But how, thus surrounded with darkness and danger, 
 
 Afar, by the harsh hand of slavery abhorred, 
 Driven to seek for ©ur bread in the land of the stranger, 
 
 O ! how shall we sing the rapt song of the Lord ! 
 My heart yearns, O Zion ! if e'er I forget thee. 
 
 Let vigour and skill leave my harp-waking hand ; 
 Beneath my chief joy what time I may set thee. 
 
 Thenceforward my tongue let dread silence command ! 
 
 Remember, O Lord, how the children of Edom, 
 
 When dark upon Zion descended the day, 
 That levelled her towers, and bereaved her of freedom, 
 
 Raze, raze her foundations ! did spitefully say. 
 Thou, daughter of Babel, the storm hovers o*er thee. 
 
 Which, bloody descending, thy pride shall abash ; 
 The waster is blessed, who vvaits to devour thee, 
 
 Relentless, thy children in pieces to dash ! 
 
PSALM 133. 
 
 aSehold ! how delightful it is, 
 
 In palace, m cot, or in cell. 
 United in concord and peace. 
 
 For brethren together to dwell ! 
 
 Like holy oil pour'd on the headi 
 Which Aaron's investment did show, 
 
 And plentiful, thence overspread. 
 To the skirts of his garment did flow. 
 
 As the dew on green Hermon descending. 
 The clear dew on Zion that glows ; 
 
 For God, there his blessing commanding, 
 The life everlasting bestows. 
 
ISAIAH. 
 
 CHAP. XXXV* 
 
 JLio ! the solitary place. 
 On a time shall yet be glad ; 
 
 Parch'd desarts shall rejoice 
 In the rose-bud's beauty clad. 
 
 Lofty singing", they shall bloom, 
 Fair in Carmel's verdant glow. 
 
 Mingling Sharon's rich perfume 
 With Lebanus' gorgeous show. 
 
 In his wonders spread abroad. 
 Glorious they the Lord shall see j 
 
 Yea, of our most gracious God 
 The sublime excellency. 
 
Strengthen ye the heart that's failing-, 
 The weak hand, the feeble knee ; 
 
 Lo ! your God, he comes with healing. 
 And his vengeance all shall see. 
 
 Open'd then the blinded eye, 
 
 Open*d then the closed ear. 
 Hues of glory shall descry, 
 
 Words of life with rapture hear. 
 
 As an hai-t the lame shall leap— 
 From the dumb shall songs arise ; 
 
 Rushing streams, with grateful sweep, 
 Burning desarts shall surprise. 
 
 Parched ground with pools shall flow, 
 Thirsty land with water-springs, 
 
 firass, with shady reeds, shall grow, 
 
 Dread where dragons spread their wings. 
 
 Broad a highway shall be there. 
 
 Smooth the way of holiness, 
 Where the foolish shall not err. 
 
 Where no foot unclean shall pass. 
 
74 
 
 There no lion shall be found. 
 
 There no raNenoiis monster prowl ; 
 
 But, on pilgrim journey bound, 
 Safe shall walk the humble soul. 
 
 Of the Lord, each ransom*d one 
 Zion's height sliall thus attain ; 
 
 Where, in transport round the throne, 
 Endless joy shall banish pain. 
 
SONG. 
 
 CALDER BRAES. 
 
 JlSright be the bloom of Calder Braes, 
 There, lightsome, glide the sunny dajfe. 
 And there, by night, the moon's pale rays 
 Keep aff black darkness dreary. 
 
 There let the rosy-bosom'd Spring 
 Her choicest sweets together bring. 
 While round her, wild, on wanton wing, 
 Her children flutter cheery. 
 
 There, balmy, let the Summer breeze 
 
 Sough saft amang the birken trees. 
 
 Where, stretch'd, the shepherds pipe at ease, 
 
 Unken'd to care sae blearj-. 
 
 E 2 
 
And thei'e, from Plenty's flowing iioiTf; 
 Let yellow Autumn pour her corn, 
 That hinds the coming" wintry morn 
 May see, nor tremble eerie. 
 
 For there young Fancy's beamy rays. 
 Shone bright upon my infant days. 
 Ere yet I dream'd life's thorny ways 
 Had been sae waefu weary. 
 
 Companions of my artless glee ! 
 Sweet laughing imps ! now v/here are ye I 
 Wish'd manhood's come— but, ah ! like me 5 
 Ye sigh life's paths are briery. 
 
 ISTo longer playful in the stream, 
 Ye, paddhng, con the flowery them , 
 Nor wild-flowers string, and fondly dream 
 Your days shall rise thus clear ay. 
 
 No ; far behind yon rising wave. 
 The storms of life, ye, wandering, brave^, 
 Save one or two, who here a grave 
 Found ere their feet were weary. 
 
rr 
 
 Departed friends ! upon your tomb. 
 Be still the wild-flowers seen to bloom. 
 There evening breathe her sweet perfume, 
 And shed the silent tear ay. 
 
 With you, this wildly throbbing breast, 
 Deep worn with care, with sorrow prest, 
 Would glad in silence sink to rest, 
 From strife and toil sae weary. 
 
 But in my heart, with life's wa]m tide, 
 Thou, C alder, still shalt dimpling glide. 
 And there thy braes in flowery pride 
 Shall rise for ever cheery. 
 
 And still my ardent wish shall be, 
 That plenty, lovej and social giee^ 
 In concert sweet, may keep with thee, 
 A refuge for the Aveary. 
 
 Braes of Calder, October, 1807, 
 
SONG. 
 
 Tune — " Gramachree."' 
 
 illDMiRiNG Nature's simple charms, 
 
 I left my humble home, 
 Awhile my country's peaceful plains 
 
 With pilgrim step to roam. 
 I mark'd the leafy summer wave, 
 
 On flowing^ Irvine's side. 
 But richer fars the robe she wears, 
 
 Within the vale of Clyde- 
 
 I roamed the braes of bonny Doon, 
 The winding banks of Ayr, 
 
 Where flutters many a small bird gaf. 
 Blooms many a floweret fair ; 
 b4 
 
so SONG. 
 
 But dearer far to me the stem 
 That once was Cald^'s pride. 
 
 And blossoms now, the fdrest flower^ 
 Within the vale of Clyde. 
 
 Avaunt ! thou life-repressing north ! 
 
 Ye withering east -winds too ! 
 But come, thou al]-''e\iving west, 
 
 Breathe soft thy genial dew ; 
 Until at length, in peaceful age p 
 
 This lovely floweret shed 
 Its last green-leaf upon my tomb'^ 
 
 Within the vale of Clyde. 
 
 MtriRKiRK, Jtily, 1806. 
 
NOTES. 
 
i 
 
NOTES. 
 
 Note I. 
 
 There i0),hisjiock ivith care the Faroner feeds , 
 
 While yet his family lies reclined in sleep, — p, 12. 
 In places of the country where enclosures have not been 
 yet mtroduced, it is commo)i for the master, on Sabbath 
 mornings, to take charge of the cattle, while the rest of 
 tlie famil}' are allowed an hour or two longer for sleep. 
 This gives the Sabbath morning a peculiar zest, par- 
 ticularly to the herd (^vho is, for the most part, but a 
 child) and the cattle? the master's superior skill and 
 cai'e generally leading them into corners which they see 
 only on the seventh day, and, consequently, where che 
 pasture is luxurious. 
 
§4 
 
 Note II. 
 
 Ajid nvith th* assembly great of the First bonif 
 
 Whose names are nxirit in heaven, in spirit joined. 
 Page 15. 
 
 The man who can look calmly around him on a Sab- 
 bath morning, beholding every thing quiet, and at rest, 
 the whole creation entering, as it were by anticipation, 
 on that state of deliverance from> the bondage of cor- 
 ruption, which, an apostle hath assured us, is reserved 
 for it against another day, nor feel disposed to add a 
 nojte to the harmony that spontaneously breaks forth on 
 every hand, has certainly but a small portion of devo- 
 tional feeling : And he who can enter upon his devotions 
 in such a situation, without reflecting that, in the act, 
 he is associated with angels and archangels, with the 
 whole church militant on earth, and with the church 
 triumphant in glory, has views less extensive than his 
 station ought to afford, and his privileges to inspire : 
 And he who, amidst all this, can forget the millions of 
 human beings that are sitting in darkness, bowing down 
 to stocks, and sacrificing to devils, while the sum of 
 their misery is augmenting every hour, has but little 
 claim to the feeling that ought to characterise the man, 
 far less to that exalted philanthropy which is an unfail- 
 ing attendant upon genuine Christianity. 
 
85 
 
 Note III. 
 
 But, from his little cot, a curling cloud 
 
 Ofsonoke ascending^ homeward teonpts his toaj', 
 
 To bless KisJuTniljiy and to serve his God, 
 In all the sacred duties of the c'oy.—Page 15. 
 
 While it is matter of lamentation, that many, intoxi- 
 cated with the fumes of a g-odless philosophy, casting off 
 fear, and restraining- prayer, have converted the Sabbath 
 into a day of revelrous dissipation, upon which, in the 
 haunts of lewdness, they are assimilated to the spirits 
 who inhabit, and ripened for the possession of, that 
 world of anguish, to which, if Omnipotence prevent not, 
 they are hastening ; it is matter of rejoicing, that many* 
 called to glory and virtue, seek for the good old paths 
 where their fathers walked, and, through exceeding 
 great and precious promises, being make partakers of a 
 divine nature, having escaped the corruption that is in 
 the world, find them to be, indeed, paths of pleasant- 
 ness, and peace. 
 
 It is not, by this, meant to be insinuated, that the 
 Sabbath should be always met in sables, or that, in or- 
 der to keep it, a man must be shut up in a darkened 
 chamber, and give himself up wholly to sighing and 
 tears No : it is a day that calls for active exertion, for 
 lively and grateful commemoration; a day, above all 
 others, when our bread ought to be eaten with joy, and 
 our wine drunk with merry hearts ; when our heads 
 ought to be v/hite, and our garments to lack no ointment, 
 seeing we celebrate not only a ^^•o^ld created, but a 
 
8S 
 
 world redeemed. And, as an elegant writer hath ob- 
 served, *' Surely an entire day should not seem long 
 amidst these various employments. It might well be 
 deemed a privilege thus to spend it, in the more imme- 
 diate presence of our Heavenly Father, in the exercises 
 of humble admiration and grateful homage ; of the be- 
 nevolent, and domestic, and social I'eelings ; and of all 
 the best affections of our nature, prompted by their true 
 motives, conversant about their proper objects, and di- 
 rected to their iioblest ends. All sorrows mitigated ; 
 all cares suspended ; all fears repressed ; every angry 
 emotion softened ; every envious, or revengeful, or ma- 
 lignant passion expelled : and the bosom, thus quieted, 
 purified, enlarged, ennobled, partaking almost of a 
 measure of the heavenly happinessj aUd become, for a 
 while, the seat of love, and joy, and confidence, and 
 hai'mony."— WiLBERFORCE on Christianity, p. 126. 
 
 Note IV. 
 
 Then, forth they goy for nana before the door 
 
 The short' ning shadovi inarks the hour of nine.-— v. 18. 
 
 la remote situations, there are many families who 
 laave no mode of ascertaining the progress of time bu^ 
 by the shadow of the house, which, at particular times 
 of the day, they mark in particular directions ; and, by 
 experience, come to know, when the sun shinesj the 
 hour of the day with great precision. 
 
?fOTES. S7 
 
 Note V. 
 But, ah J tvhat bands approach ivithjeli design ! — p. 19. 
 
 Noisome bands of this kind are, every sunny Sabbath, 
 to be met with in all directions, within a day's journey 
 of any considerable city ; and they may be divided into 
 the three following classes, 
 
 Pirst, The class here immediately alluded to, con- 
 sisting of prodigal sons, vagabond apprentices, and de- 
 cayed sportsmen ; who, as their aim is plunder, nests, 
 wild berries 5 pease, turnips, &c. are generally first at 
 the road, and have the most loathsome appearance. 
 
 Secondly, Your city poets and politicians, who take 
 their Sabbath walks in order to lay in rural imagery ; 
 recite to one another the productions of the last week ; 
 feed the fires of genius ; and display their oratorical' 
 powers in some hedge-alehouse ; from which they may 
 be seen returning at night, generally drunk. The mem- 
 bers of this class have, for the most part, a strutting 
 consequential air, and look with great contempt upon 
 the poor peasantry whom they observe still keeping up, 
 as they imagine, the foolish practice of going to church. 
 Lastly, Your dashing cjerks, shopmen, &c. generally 
 driving three In a gig, drawn by an old wind-broken 
 hack, if not witli the speed, with all the fury of the son 
 of Nimshi. These are altogether gentlemen ! and see 
 MO person whatever upon the road ; but may often be 
 seen, when they have exhausted their finances feeding 
 themselves, without being able to extend the same 
 privilege to the horse, driving home on foot, cursing in 
 
88 
 
 concert, though very causelessly, the poor anunal and 
 its owner, but flog-ging- it up by rotation. 
 
 All of tliese, the author is of opinion, not to speak of 
 their souls, (as they might start at the imputation of 
 possessing souls,) ought, for the good of their bodies , 
 every first day of the week, to be delivered over to the 
 care of the constables. 
 
 Note VI. 
 
 Ahf Christian J cease/ these dangerous themes forbear. 
 Page 29. 
 
 Mankind, in general, have a singular itching after 
 secrets, and not a few have the temerity ^o attempt 
 prying into the hidden counsels of the Eternal. This 
 presumptive disposition, it may be presumedj has been 
 the fruitful source of all the metaphysical jargon which 
 has overrun the fields of philosophy, whence it is some- 
 times introduced into the more elevated regions of 
 divinity. Once infected with this disease, tlie person 
 immediately sets about ** understanding all mysteries,** 
 and the consequences commonly correspond to the 
 wisdom of the undertaking. 
 
 The practice of the late Mr. John Newton, (who, in 
 all that respects the Christian life, may be regarded as 
 an able counsellor,) with respect to the origin of evil,-— 
 a subject, the investigation of which has conducted 
 some to bedlam, and not a few to the no less melancholy 
 regions of scepticism,— .the author would humbly re- 
 commend, a^ a sovereign antidote to this dangerous 
 
NOTES. 89 
 
 propensity. *'Many," says he, <'have puzzled thewi- 
 selves about the origin of evil : I observe there is evil, 
 and that there is a way to escape it, and with this 1 
 begin and end.*' — Cecil's Life o/JVeiotoUi p. 246. 
 
 Note VII. 
 
 Thy sober gait let tinsel* d fops deride ; 
 
 Vile canker loorTns, that <waste a riation's health ' 
 Page 37. 
 
 It is hoped that none will, from this, suppose the 
 author to have imbibed the spirit of some raving phi* 
 losophers, who, for the perfecting of government and of 
 human nature, would have all men reduced to the neces- 
 sity of subsisting themselves by manual operations. 
 Such a dream reduced to practice, he has no doubt, 
 would be the perfecting of human misery, as far as it 
 could be perfected in this mortal state. But, while the 
 opulent orders of society are left in the full possession 
 of all their immunities, the lowly child of labour ought 
 not to be robbed of that honour which his usefulness 
 certainly merits. He is always, indeed, supposed to be 
 very dependent ; and, in times like the present, [1808,] 
 he will feel himself to be so in no small degree. He 
 has, however, no reason, on that account, to think the 
 less of that station in which Providence hath placed him ; 
 nor to aggravate the evils of his condition by unavailing 
 ranmnurs, and misplaced attempts to arrive at situations 
 either unattainable, or which, though attaine^lj could 
 not perhaps add to his happiness. 
 
99 NQTE^. 
 
 His table may show no luxuries, yea, in necessaries 
 may be poorly provided, but such as it is he uses it with 
 freedom. Conscience rises not up, in the terrors of in- 
 censed Deity, to say of this, — It is the bread of idleness j 
 of that, it is the cup of deceit, has been wrung out by 
 the unrelenting hand of oppression, and another day will 
 I require it. 
 
 He may, at times, meet with the sneer of ignorance 
 and pride ; men of the weakest intellect, and the most 
 contemptible morals, may treat him as a being altogether 
 of an inferior order : but when he reflects, that the hon- 
 our lies not in the part to be performed, but in the 
 manner of performance, contempt will take place of 
 anger, and pity at length supplant both. If he is emu- 
 lous of greatness, and has any taste for the true sublime 
 in character, revelation will inform him, that " greater 
 is he that hath rule over his own spirit, than he tliat 
 taketh a city ;'* and philosophy \Vill assure him, that if, 
 in the system of society, others form the arch and the 
 embellishments, he is the pillar upon which they must 
 be founded ; if they are the wheels by which the finer 
 operations are performed, and the hands which accu^ 
 rately point out the result, he is the spring which keeps 
 the whole in motion. 
 
 Nor can it detract any thing from his true dignity, that 
 this is either not generally known, or if known, is not 
 willingly admitted ; the sun loses nothing of his splen- 
 dour though the clouds arising from the earth be at 
 times too gross for his beams to penetrate. And, upon 
 the whole, what are the paltry distinctions of time to 
 
ISfOTES. 91 
 
 him, who IS the heir of eternity ? WT.at the opinions of 
 men to him, who has in view the melting elements, thQ 
 descending heavens, assembled worlds, and the throne 
 of the Eternal ? 
 
 Note VIII. 
 
 Faith, in thy creed, must turn her to the door. 
 
 And starched Morality take tip her place. — Page 42. 
 
 Faith, as it is a distinguishing principle in the Christian 
 system, and must form the foundation of all acceptable 
 practice, has been assailed with unrelenting animosity by 
 the enemies of revealed truth in every age. It has been 
 assaulted with Socratic ingenuity and Ciceronian vigoui-j 
 with the curruscations of wit and hiuriour poured forth 
 with all the poignancy of ridiciile, by the learned, the 
 great, and the gay, while cur-like yelpip.g, in wretched 
 doggerels, the pitiful poetaster has brought up the reru-, 
 and rendered the army complete. It still, however, re- 
 mains *' The substance of things hoped for, the evidence 
 of things not seen." Still, *' by it being justified, we 
 have peace with God, through our Lord Jesus Christ." 
 Still, "by it, righteousness is wrought, and promises ob- 
 tained" And still it remains an immutable truth, tlu t 
 " No man is justified by the law in the sight of God • 
 btit the just shall live by his faith " 
 
 The enemies of this article of divine truth have a most 
 disingenuous practice of representing it as something tha|^ 
 stands opposed to, and is incompatible with niorality 
 But let it be remarked, that the faith inculcated in tjie 
 
92 
 
 Holy Scriptures, and for which we plead, is a faith which 
 worketh by love, and purifieth the heart ; and whatever 
 a man's pretensions may be, if he is destitute of moral- 
 ity, the Scriptures warrant us to say, that to true faith 
 he is as yet a stranger. 
 
 Note IX. 
 
 Whence is it that the brutish Gods of GreecCt 
 Wicked coiifessedi yet obstinately strong ^ 
 
 Each muse dejilingy a)id each sacred fil ace, 
 
 So long have ruled the rich realms of song,— "P. 42. 
 
 It is astonishing to observe the inflexible constancy 
 which the Parnassian brotherhood have displayed, with 
 regard to the Greek mythology ; the wretched fables of 
 which, they have been content to retail from one another, 
 in nearly the same words, for three thousand years. At- 
 tempts have, indeed, been latterly made by some bolder 
 spirits to introduce the blood-drinking deities of Scan- 
 dinavia ; and one, distinguished among his fellows for 
 lofty pretensions, haughty and distorted demeanour, has, 
 between Grecian and Gotliic story, generated a new race 
 of terribles, consisting of local and independent, though, 
 feeble divinities, thin ghosts, self-existing in gray clouds, 
 rising from the reedy lake, or in the thickening storm, 
 howling wild along the hills of heath, green meteors, &c. 
 dancing over the white waves, as they toss to the whid 
 their heads of foam. The Hall of Woden is, no doubt, 
 a very glorious place, and drinking the blood of one's 
 enemies out of these very enemies skulls, must be allow- 
 
ed, in a warlike age like the present, to be also a glori- 
 ous employment ! Deities whicti fall asunder by tlie stroke 
 of a mortal, "like a column of smoke, which the staft' 
 of the boy disturbs as it rises from the half-extinguished 
 iumace, though they inspire no love, as they excite no 
 fear, may also be tolerated. But the idea of thin ghosts, 
 shone through by stars, blown about by winds, or sigh- 
 ing- over the chill and reedy lake, though it wants the 
 fire and brimstone, seems little more favourable to sleep, 
 (the fashionable futurity of the present day,) than tlie 
 vulgar hell of Christianity ; while the green meteors, &c- 
 have all its superstition ; so neither of them can be long 
 endured. Even the sublimity of Woden's rites, cannot 
 "bring him generally into favour. The bard, over his 
 bottle, still invokes the rosy Bacchus. The love-sick 
 ?hymster complains still of the cruelty of Cupid ; and 
 *he simpering sonnetteer, in celebrating his mistress, 
 finds it still easy and convenient to compare her with 
 Venus rising from the deep green wave. 
 
 The end of poetry, it has been said, is to please ; and 
 Jn order to please, fiction has also been supposed neces- 
 sary. The most interesting poets, however, the writer 
 is of opinion, will be found to be those whose fictions, if 
 fictions they must be called, come nearest the truth. 
 Who that possesses ehher reason, taste, or feeling, would 
 lay aside the Paradise Lost of Milton, tlie Night Thoughts 
 of Young, or the more delightful Task of CoMper,* to 
 
 * These are not enumerated with the design of de- 
 tracting from the merit of others. Tije autjjor could 
 
94 
 
 attend to the g-enealogies of Hesiiod, the squabbling divin- 
 ities of Homer, or the senseless Metamorphoses of Ovid ? 
 " When I consider," says Cowley, vi^ho was undoubt- 
 edly one of tlie brlg-htest ornaments of the ag-e in •w-hich 
 he lived, '* how many brig-ht and magnificent subjects 
 the Holy Scriptures prolfer to poesy ; in the wise man- 
 aging- and illustrating whereof, the glory of God Al- 
 mighty might be joined with the singular utility, and 
 noblest delight of mankind ; it is not without grief and 
 indignation that I behold that divine science employing 
 all her inexhaustible riches of wit and eloquence, either 
 in the wicked and beggarly flattery of great persons, or 
 the unmanly idolizing of foolish women, or the wretched 
 affectation of scurril laughter ; or, at best ,on the confused 
 and antiquated dreams of senseless fables and metamor- 
 phoses Amongst all holy and consecrated things, which 
 the devil ever stole and alienated from the service of the 
 Deity, as altgirs, temples, sacrifices, prayers, and the like, 
 there is none that he so universally and so long usurped 
 as poetry. It is time to recover it out of the tyrant's 
 hands, and to restore it to the kingdom of God, who is 
 the father of it It is time to baptize it in Jordan, for it 
 will never become clean by bathing in the waters of 
 Dasmascus." " There is not,'* continues he, *' so great 
 
 name even living poets, were it not that they might resent 
 praise from his humble pen as an affront, whom he re- 
 gards as having equal claims upon public gratitude, and 
 whom he earnestly wishes may be long spared in the 
 exercise of their tislents, and tlie enjoyment of that ap« 
 pbuse they have so honourably acquired. 
 
i>6 
 
 alle to be found ii) ti^y poet, as llie vulj^ar coiiccil of" incn, 
 that lying is essential to g-ood poetr} ." 
 
 That he did not, however, suppose i-elig-ious poelry o^ 
 easy acqijrement, nor allow that it should be written in 
 a slovenly manner, tlie following will evince ; — ''All the 
 books of the Bible are either already most admirable and 
 exalted pieces of poesy, or are the best materials in the 
 world for it. Yet though they be in themselves so pi-oper 
 to be made use of for this purpose, none but a good artist 
 will know liow to do it ; neither must we think to cut 
 and polish diamonds with so little pains and skill as we 
 dp marble. For if any man design to compose a sacred 
 poem, by only turning a story of the Scripture, like Mr. 
 Quarl's, or some other go-by matter like Mr Haywood, 
 of angels into rhyme, he is so far from elevating of poesy, 
 that he only abases divinity. 
 
 **In brief, he who can write a prophane poem well 
 may write a divine one better i but he who can do thai 
 but ill, will do this much worse. The same fertility of 
 invention ; the same wisdom of disposition ; the same 
 judgment in observance of decencies ; the same lustre 
 an'l vigour of elocution ; the same modesty and majesty 
 of number ; briefly, the same kind of habit is required to 
 both, only this latter allows belter stuff, and therefore 
 would look more deformedly if ill drest in it." 
 
 Note X. 
 By error be'tiilder'di by folly tmdone, O-c— Page 54. 
 I'he poverty of poets has been proverbial, and their 
 unhappy lives a subject for declamation time immemorial 
 
96 
 
 Every age has heard, with pleasure, its predecessor 
 arraigned and _ condemned, for cruelly neglecting- som6 
 hopeful child of genius, whom a little attention would 
 have rendered comfortable, and Avho, in return, might 
 have instructed, delighted and honoured his countyy, by 
 the happy exertion of his talents. But while the sentence 
 is passing, some unhappy child or children of rhyme are 
 running their dissipated career, and already approaching 
 that miserable catastrophe, that sliall lay a foundation 
 for a similar charge, and a similar sentence in the ages 
 to come. 
 
 The truth is, that between poverty and poetry, patron- 
 age and happiness, there exists no necessary connection. 
 The poets, most distinguished for excellence, have, the 
 greater part of them at least, been in easy circumstances ; 
 and the most remarkable for wretchedness, will be found 
 to have enjo3^ed no small share of patronage ; while their 
 works, but that the tale of their woes still excites curi. 
 osity, would, in all probability, for the greater part, long 
 ago have been totally forgotten. 
 
 '*It is lamentable," exclaims a Reviewer, with that 
 sarcastic shrewdness of remark for v/hicJi he has been 
 so often celebrated, "to think how little the treatment 
 of persons labouring under \.he complicated diseases of 
 poverty, poetry, and want of principle, is yet understood 
 in this country. The common method has hitherto been 
 to encourage the immorality by indulgence, to repress 
 the poetry by extravagant and pernicious applauses, and 
 to exasperate the symptoms of poverty, by thoughtless 
 and unmeasured profusion, succeeded by desertion and 
 
97 
 
 neglect." And he might have added, that to see these 
 glittering meteors mistaken for steady constellations,*and 
 their zig-zag deviations from the marked circle of mo- 
 rality altogether overlooked, or ingeniously palliated, 
 while multitudes are endeavouring to imitate them to 
 their present and future destruction, is more lamentable 
 still. 
 
 * This is not intended to be understood of them as men 
 of genius, but as mor:d beiiigs occupying a conspicuous 
 place, whence theii conduct comes to have influence ir, 
 forming the character of others. 
 
 THE END. 
 
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