3. The very turf on which we tread, once liv'd;
And we that live must lend our carcasses

To cover our own offspring:-In their turns
They too must cover their's.-

'Tis here all meet.

The shiv'ring Icelander, and sun-burnt Moor;
Men of all climes, that never met before;

And of all creeds, the Jew, the Turk, the Christian.
4. Here the proud prince, and favourite, yet prouder,
His sovereign's keeper, and the people's scourge,
Are huddled out of sight.-Here lie abash'd,
The great negociators of the earth,

And celebrated masters of the balance,

Deep read in stratagems and wiles of courts. Now vain their treaty-skill! Death scorns to treat. 5. Here the o'erloaded slave flings down his burden From his gall'd shoulders;-and when the cruel tyrant, With all his guards and tools of power about him, Is meditating new unheard-of hardships,

6.

Mocks his short arm; and, quick as thought, escapes
Where tyrants vex not, and the weary rest.
Here the warm lover, leaving the cool shade,
The tell-tale echo and the bubbling stream,
(Time out of mind the 'fav'rite seats of love)
Fast by his gentle mistress lays him down,
Unblasted by foul tongue.

Here friends and foes
Lie close; unmindful of their former feuds.
The lawn-rob'd Prelate, and plain Presbyter,
Ere while that stood aloof, as shy to meet,
Familiar mingle here, like sister streams
That some rude interposing rock had split.
7. Here garrulous old age winds up his tale;
And jovial youth, lightsome vacant heart,
Whose ev'ry day was made of melody,

Hears not the voice of mirth.-The shrill tongu'd shrew,
Meek as the turtle-dove, forgets her chiding.
8. Here are the wise, the generous, and the brave;
The just, the good, the worthless, the profane,
The downright clown, and perfectly well-bred;
The fool, the churl, the scoundrel, and the mean,
The supple statesman, and the patriot stern;
The wrecks of nations and the spoils of time,
With all the lumber of six thousand years.

LESSON LIII.

The same continued.

1. But know, that thou must render up thy dead, And with high int'rest too. They are not thine; But only in thy keeping for a season,

Till the great promis'd day of restitution;
When loud diffusive sound from brasen trump,
Of strong lung'd cherub, shall alarm thy captives,
And rouse the long, long sleepers into life,
Day-light and liberty.

2. Then must thy gates fly open, and reveal
The mines that lay long forming under ground,
In their dark cells immured; but now full ripe,
And pure as silver from the crucible,

3.

4.

That twice has stood the torture of the fire,
And inquisition of the forge.-We know
Th' illustrious deliverer of mankind,

The Son of God, thee foil'd.

Him in thy pow'r
Thou could'st not hold:-Self-vigorous he rose,
And shaking off thy fetters, soon retook
Those spoils his voluntary yielding lent:
(Sure pledge of our releasement from thy thrall!)
Twice twenty days he sojourn'd here on earth,
And show'd himself alive to chosen witnesses
By proofs so strong, that the most slow-assenting
Had not a scruple left. This having done,

He mounted up to heav'n.

Methinks I see him

Climb the aerial heights, and glide along

Athwart the severing clouds; but the faint eye,
Flung backward in the chase, soon drops its hold
Disabled quite, and jaded with pursuing.

Heaven's portals wide expand to let him in;
Nor are his friends shut out: as some great prince,
Not for himself alone procures admission,
But for his train. It was his royal will,
That where he is, there should his followers be.
5. Death only lies between.A gloomy path!
Made yet more gloomy by our coward fears:
But nor untrod, nor tedious: the fatigue

Will soon go off. Besides, there's no by-road To bliss.-Then, why, like ill-condition'd children, Start we at transient hardships in the way That leads to purer air, and softer skies, And a ne'er setting sun?-Fools that we are! We wish to be where sweets unwith'ring bloom; But strait our wish revoke, and will not go. 6. So have I seen, upon a summer's even, Fast by the riv'let's brink, a youngster play: How wishfully he looks to stem the tide! This moment resolute, next unresolv'd: At last he dips his foot; but as he dips, His fears redouble, and he runs away From th' inoffensive stream, unmindful now Of all the flowers that paint the further bank, And smiled so sweet of late.

7.

Thrice welcome death! That after many a painful bleeding step Conducts us to our home, and lands us safe On the long wish'd for shore.-Prodigious change! Our bane turn'd to a blessing! Death, disarm'd, Loses his fellness quite.-All thanks to him Who scourg'd the venom out.-Sure the last end Of the good man is peace! How calm his exit! Night-dews fall not more gently to the ground, Nor weary worn-out winds expire so soft. 8. Behold him in the evening tide of life, A life well spent, whose early care it was His riper years should not upbraid his green: By unperceiv'd degrees he wears away; Yet, like the sun, seems larger at his setting. (High in his faith and hopes) look how he reaches After the prize in view! and, like a bird That's hamper'd, struggles hard to get away; Whilst the glad gates of sight are wide expanded To let new glories in, the first fair fruits Of the fast coming harvest.

9.

Then! O then!
Each earth-born joy grows vile, or disappears,
Shrunk to a thing of nought. O! how he longs
To have his passport sign'd, and be dismiss'd!
"Tis done! and now he's happy! The glad soul
Has not a wish uncrown'd. Ev'n the lag flesh

Rests too in hope of meeting once again
Its better half, never to sunder more.
10. Nor shall it hope in vain. The time draws on,
When not a single spot of burial earth,
Whether on land, or in the spacious sea,
But must give back its long committed dust
Inviolate: And faithfully shall these

Make up the full account; not the least atom
Embezzl'd, or mislaid, of the whole tale.
11. Each soul shall have a body ready furnish'd,
And each shall have his own, Hence, ye profane!
Ask not, how this can be? Sure the same power
That rear'd the piece at first, and took it down,
Can re-assemble the loose scatter'd parts,
And put them as they were. Almighty God
Has done much more, nor is his arm impair'd
Through length of days; and what he can he will:
His faithfulness stands bound to see it done.

BLAIR.

LESSON LIV.

On the Importance of Religion to the Young.

1. It is a common prejudice, arising from very erroneous views of the nature of religion, to think that it is chiefly intended for the aged, the miserable, and the sick, and not for the young, the vigorous, and the happy. Religion is designed for our consolation, it is true; but it is also intended for our guidance and restraint; for the enlargement and direction of our views, and the progressive purification and exaltation of our natures.

2. But all these objects are as necessary, and ought to be as interesting, to the young, as to the mature. When, indeed, do we feel the necessity of all our good principles to restrain and guide us most? Is it in the advance of life, when the first warmth of our wishes is cooled, and a sober selfishness, if nothing else, will preserve us from all wild excess? Or is it not at that season when passion rolls her impetuous tides through our veins; when desires, yet unpalled by gratification, are rebels to our reason; and when the bitter consequences of guilt have not taught us to shun it?

3. If, too, you admit that any alteration ought to be made in our plans of life, in consequence of believing that there is a world of retribution to follow it, what season so proper for the exertion of this influence as that when our plans may be so arranged, that they shall need no alteration? How far better must it be, to set out in the career of life originally right, than to suffer the pain and mortification of being compelled to retrace our steps.

4. How important, also, is it to our happiness, to be early taught by religion to estimate the world at its proper value; to regard it as a school of virtue, more than a festival of pleasure; a scene of high duties, not of unmingled gratifications; to be warned beforehand, that we shall have much to suffer, as well as to enjoy; and thus to be preserved from those cruel disappointments, which sadden the days of those, who have indulged such extravagant hopes of felicity, as this state was never intended to realize.

5. In short, unless you are prepared to say, that the ardour of youthful passion needs no restraint; that the extravagance of youthful hopes needs no correction; and that the arrangement of life is not to be affected by the views which religion gives of its true design, you must admit, that religion is never more necessary than in the season of youth.

6. Another consideration is, that religion may be most easily and permanently engrafted on the mind in youth. The soul is not yet filled with the cares of the world, and the deceitfulness of riches. It is not yet torn by ambition, and tortured by envy. It is not yet agitated by the tempests of politics, or swallowed up in the whirlpool of fashionable dissipation,

7. It is not yet so bound down to the pursuits of the world, as to leave it no leisure for the thought of heaven. Those sublime views which religion reveals, if permitted to enter the mind, will not find the place, which they ought to possess, preoccupied by merely terrestrial cares. The soul is yet white, and fair, and unsullied. Seize, then, this precious moment, to engrave on it the everlasting characters of celestial truth.

8. But not only is the mind most open to religion in youth; the heart, also, is then most susceptible of its sacred influence. The fetters of habit are not yet bound around us. That tendency of our nature to settle in the course which we have long pursued, not only does not yet