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Ambitious to be seen, and then make room
For greater multitudes that were to come.

Yet unemploy'd no minute Nip'd away;
Moments were precious in so short a stay.
The hafte of heaven to have her was so

great, That some were single acts, tho each compleat; But ev'ry act stood ready to repeat.

Her fellow-faints with busy care will look For her bleft name in fate's eternal book And, pleas’d to be outdone, with joy will see Numberless virtues, endless charity : But more will wonder at fo short an age, To find a blank beyond the thirtieth page : And with a pious fear begin to doubt The piece imperfect, and the rest torn out. But 'twas her Saviour's time ; and, could there be A copy near th’original, 'twas she.

As precious gums are not for lasting fire, They but perfume the temple, and expire: So was she soon exhal'd, and vanish'd hence; A short sweet odor, of a vast expence. She vanish’d, we can scarcely say she dy'd ; For but a now did heaven and earth divide : She pass’d ferenely with a single breath ; This moment perfect health, the next was death :

One sigh did her eternal bliss affure ;
So little penance needs, when souls are almost puse.
As gentle dreams our waking thoughts pursue
Or, one dream pass’d, we slide into a new ;
So close they follow, such wild order keep,
We think ourselves awake, and are asleep :
So softly death fucceeded life in her:
She did but dream of heaven, and she was there.

No pains the suffer'd, nor expir’d with noise ;
Her soul was whisper'd out with God's still voice ;
As an old friend is beckor'd to a feast,
And treated like a long-familiar guest.
He took her as he found, but found her so,
As one in hourly readiness to go :
E'en on that day, in all her trim prepar'd;
As early notice she from heaven had heard,
And some descending courier from above
Had given her timely warning to remove ;
Or counsell’d her to dress the nuptial room,
For on that night the bridegroom was to come.
He kept his hour, and found her where the lay
Cloth'd all in white, the liv'ry of the day :
Scarce had she finn'd in thought, or word, or act ;
Unless omissions were to pafs for fact :
That hardly death a consequence could draw,
To make her liable to nature's law,

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And, that she dy'd, we only have to show
The mortal part of her she left below:
The rest, so smooth, fo suddenly she went,
Look'd like tranflátion thro the firmament,
Or, like the fiery car on the third errand fent.

O happy foul! if thou canst view from high,
Where thou art all intelligence, all eye,
If looking up to God, or down to us,
Thou find'st, that any way be pervious,
Survey the ruins of thy house, and see
Thy widow'd, and thy orphan family :
Look on thy tender pledges left behind;
And, if thou canst a vacant minute find
From heavenly joys, that interval afford
To thy sad children, and thy mourning lord.
See how they grieve, mistaken in their love,
And shed a beam of comfort from above;
Give them, as much as mortal eyes can bear,
A transient view of thy full glories there;
That they with mod’rate forrow may

sustain
And mollify their losses in thy gain,
Or else divide the grief; for such thou wert,
That should not all relations bear a part,
It were enough to break a single heart.

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Let this suffice: nor thou, great saint, refuse
This humble tribute of no vulgar muse:
Who, not by cares, or wants, or age deprest,
Stems a wild deluge with a dauntless breast;
And dares to sing thy praises in a climę
Where vice triumphs, and virtue is a crime ';
Where e'en to draw the picture of thy mind,
Is satire on the most of human kind:
Take it, while yet ’tis praise ; before my rage,
Unsafely just, break loose on this bad age ;
So bad, that thou thyself ḥadst no defence
From vice, but barely by departing hence:

Be what, and where thou art: to wish thy place,
Were, in the best, presumption more than grace.
Thy relics, (such thy works of
Have, in this poem, been my holy care.
As earth thy body keeps, thy soul the sky,
So fhall this verse preserve thy memory;
For thou shalt make it live, because it fings of

mercy are)

thee.

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'T We was the greats, and hung with pearls

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WAS on a joyless and a gloomy morn,
Węt was the grass, and hung with pearls

the thorn
When Damon, who design'd to pass the day
With hounds and horns, and chace the flying prey,
Rofe early from his bed; but soon he found
The welkin pitch'd with fullen clouds around,
An eastern wind, and dew upon the ground.
Thus while he stood, and fighing did survey
The fields, and curst th’ill omens of the day,
He saw Menalcas come with heavy pace;
Wet were his eyes, and chearless was his face:
He wrung his hands, distracted with his care,
And sent his voice before him from afar.
Return, he cry'd, return, unhappy swain,
The spungy clouds are fill'd with gathering rain:
The promise of the day not only cross’d,
But e'en the spring, the spring itself is loft.
Amyntas---oh!---he could not speak the rest,

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