Perish the virtue, as it ought, abhorr'd, And the fool with it who infults his Lord. Th' atonement a Redeemer's love has wrought Is not for you the righteous need it not. Seeft thou yon harlot wooing all the meets, The worn out nuisance of the public streets, Herself from morn to night, from night to morn, Her own abhorrence, and as much your fcorn; The gracious flow'r, unlimited and free, Shall fall on her, when heav'n denies it thee. Of all that wisdom dictates, this the drift, That man is dead in fin, and life a gift. Is virtue then, unless of chriftian growth, Mere fallacy, or foolishness, or both, Ten thousand fages loft in endlefs woe, For ignorance of what they could not know? That speech betrays at once a bigot's tongue, Charge not a God with fuch outrageous wrong. Truly not the partial light men have, My creed perfuades me, well employed, may fave, While he that fcorns the noon day beam, perverse, Shall find the bleffing, unimprov'd, a curfe. Let heathen worthies, whofe exalted mind Poffefs for me their undifputed lot, And take unenvied the reward they fought. But fill in virtue of a Saviour's plea, Not blind by choice, but deftin'd not to fee. Celeft al, though they knew not whence it came, The wretch who flights the Lounty of the fkics," The good he fcorn'd all carried to account. E'fe Elfe his own glorious rights he would disclaim,, And man might fafely trifle with his name: He bids him glow with unremitting love. To all on earth, and to himself above; Condemns th' injurious deed, the fland'rous tongue,, The thought that meditates a brother's wrong;. Brings not alone, the more confpicuous part,, His conduct to the teft, but tries his heart.. Hark! univerfal nature fhook and groan'd, 'Twas the last trumpet-fee the judge enthron'd: Rouse all your courage at your utmost need, Now summon ev'ry virtue, ftand and plead. What, filent? Is your boasting heard no more? That self-renouncing wifdom, learn'd before, Had fhed immortal glories on your brow, That all your virtues cannot purchase now.. All joy to the believer! He can speak→ Trembling yet happy, confident yet meek. Since the dear hour that brought me to thy foot,. And cut up all my follies by the root,, I never trusted in an arm but thine,, Nor hop'd, but in thy righteousness divine: My pray'rs and alms, imperfect and defil'd, Were but the feeble efforts of a child, Howe'er perform'd, it was their brighteft part, That they proceeded from a grateful heart: Cleans'd in thine own all-purifying blced, EXPOS In England's cafe to move the mufe to tears? Is he not cloath'd with a perpetual smile ? A new found luxury not feen in her? Her |