Beneath thofe rugged elms, that yew-tree's fhade, Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap, Each in his narrow cell for ever laid,

The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.

Let not Ambition mock their useful toil,

Their homely ways and destiny obfcure-
Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile,
The short and fimple Annals of the poor.

The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,
And all that beauty, all that wealth ere gave,
Alike await the inevitable hour;

The paths of glory lead but to the grave.

Can ftoried urn, or animated bust,

Back to its manfion call the fleeting breath?
Can Honour's voice provoke the filent duft,
Or Flattery foothe the dull cold ear of death?

Perhaps in this neglected fpot is laid,

Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire ;
Hands that the rod of empire might have swayed,
Or waked to ecftafy the living lyre.

But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page,
Rich with the spoils of Time, did ne'er unroll;

Chill Penury repreffed their noble rage,

And froze the genial current of the foul.

Full many a gem of pureft ray ferene,

The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear; Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its fweetnefs on the defert air.

Some village Hampden that with dauntless breaft,
The little tyrant of his fields withstood;
Some mute inglorious Milton here may reft,

Some Cromwell guiltlefs of his country's blood.

The applause of liftening fenates to command,
The threats of pain and ruin to despise-
To scatter plenty o'er a fmiling land,
And read their history in a nation's eyes,

*

GRAY.

XXXV.

THE CHURCH.

HOUGH private prayer be a brave defign,

Yet public hath more promises, more love;

And love's a weight to hearts, to eyes

a fign,

We are all but cold fuitors; let us move

Where it is warmeft. Leave thy fix and feven;

Pray with the moft; for where moft pray, is Heaven.

When once thy foot enters the Church, be bare; God is more there than thou; for thou art there Only by His permiffion. Then beware,

And make thyself all reverence and fear. Kneeling ne'er spoiled filk ftocking; quit thy ftate: All equal are within the Church's gate.

Refort to fermons, but to prayers most ;

Praying's the end of preaching. Oh, be drest; Stay not for the other pin. Why, thou haft loft

A joy for it worth worlds. Thus hell doth jest Away thy bleffings, and extremely flout thee, Thy clothes being faft, but thy foul loofe about thee.

In time of fervice feal up both thine eyes,

And fend them to thine heart, that spying fin, They may weep out the stains by them that rife, Those doors being fhut, all by the ears comes in. Who marks in Church-time others' fymmetry, Marks all their beauty his deformity.

Let vain or busy thoughts have there no part;
Bring not thy plough, thy plots, thy pleasure

thither;

Christ purged His Temple, so must thou thy heart;

All worldly thoughts are but thieves met together To cozen thee. Look to thy action well, For Churches either are our Heaven or Hell.

Judge not the preacher, for he is thy judge;
If thou mislike him, thou conceiv'ft him not;
God calleth preaching folly. Do not grudge
To pick out treasures from an earthen pot.
The worst speak fomething good; if all want sense,
God takes a text, and preacheth patience.

He that gets patience, and the bleffing which Preachers conclude with, hath not loft his pains;

He that by being at Church escapes the ditch
Which he might fall in by companions, gains.
He that loves God's abode, and to combine
With faints on earth, fhall one day with them shine.

G. HERBERT.

XXXVI.

THE CHRISTIAN.

OW fine has the day been, how bright was the fun!

How lovely and joyful the courfe that he run!

Though he rofe in a mift, when his race he begun,

And there followed fome droppings of rain. But now the fair traveller's come to the West, His rays are all gold, and his beauties are beft; He paints the sky gay, as he finks to his reft, And foretells a bright rifing again.

Juft fuch is the Chriftian! His course he begins, Like the Sun in a mift, when he mourns for his fins,

And melts into tears, then he breaks out and fhines,
And travels his Heavenly way.

But when he comes nearer to finifh his race,
Like a fine fetting fun, he looks richer in grace;
And gives a fure hope at the end of his days,

Of rifing in brighter array.

WATTS.

XXXVII.

CONTENTMENT.

OME murmur when their fky is clear,
And wholly bright to view,
If one fmall fpeck of dark appear,

In their great heaven of blue;

And fome with thankful love are

filled,

If but one ftreak of light,

One ray of God's great mercy gild

The darkness of their night.

In palaces are hearts that ask,
In discontent and pride,
Why life is fuch a dreary task,
And all good things denied?
And hearts in pooreft huts admire
How love has, in their aid,

(Love that not ever feems to tire,)
Such rich provifion made.

TRENCH.