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The devastations of one dreadful hour,
The Great Creator's six days work devour;
A mighty, mighty ruin! yet one soul

Has more to boast, and far outweighs the whole;
Exalted in superior excellence,

Casts down to nothing, such a vast expence.
Have ye not seen th' eternal mountains nod,
An earth dissolving, a descending GOD?
What strange surprises through all nature ran!
For whom these revolutions, but for man!
For him, Omnipotence new measures takes,
For him, through all eternity awakes;
Pours on him gifts sufficient to supply
Heaven's loss, and with fresh glories fill the sky.

Think deeply then, O man! how great thou art,
Pay thyself homage with a trembling heart;
What angels guard, no longer dare neglect,
Slighting thyself, affront not God's respect.
Enter the sacred temple of thy breast,

And gaze, and wander there, a ravish'd guest;
Gaze on those hidden treasures thou shalt find,
Wander through all the glories of thy mind.
Of perfect knowledge, see the dawning light
Foretels a noon most exquisitely bright!
Here, springs of endless joy are breaking forth!
There, buds the promise of celestial worth!

Worth, which must ripen in a happier clime,
And brighter sun, beyond the bounds of time.
Thou, minor, canst not guess thy vast estate,
What stores, on foreign coasts, thy landing wait:
Lose not thy claim, let virtue's paths be trod;

Thus glad all heaven, and please that bounteous

God,

Who, to light thee to pleasures, hung on high
Yon radiant orb, proud regent of the sky:
That service done, its beams shall fade away,
And God shine forth in one Eternal Day.

THE

INSTITUTION AND SOLEMNITY

OF

THE SABBATH.

MILTON.

AND now on earth the seventh

Evening arose in Eden, for the sun

Was set, and twilight from the east came on,
Forerunning night; when on the holy mount
Of heaven's high-seated top, th' imperial throne
Of Godhead, fix'd for ever firm and sure,

The Filial Power arriv'd, and sat him down
With his great Father, for he also went
Invisible, yet stay'd, (such privilege

Hath Omnipresence) and the work ordain'd,
Author and end of all things, and from work
Now resting, bless'd and hallow'd the seventh day,
As resting on that day from all his work,
But not in silence holy kept; the harp
Had work and rested not; the solemn pipe,
And dulcimer, all organs of sweet stop,
All sounds on fret by string or golden wire
Temper'd soft tunings, intermix'd with voice
Choral or unison: of incense, clouds

Fuming from golden censors hid the mount.
Creation and the six days acts they sung.
Great are thy works, Jehovah, infinite

Thy pow'r; what thought can measure thee, or tongue

Relate thee? greater now in thy return
Than from the giant angels? thee that day
Thy thunders magnify'd; but to create
Is greater than created to destroy.

Who can impair thee, mighty King, or bound
Thy empire? Easily the proud attempt
Of spirits apostate and their counsels vain
Thou hast repell'd, while impiously they thought
Thee to diminish, and from thee withdraw

The number of thy worshippers. Who seeks
To lessen thee against his purpose serves
To manifest the more thy might: his evil
Thou usest, and from thence creates more good.
Witness this new-made world, another heaven,
From heaven-gate not far, founded in view
Of the clear hyaline, the glassy sea;
Of amplitude almost immense, with stars
Numerous, and ev'ry star perhaps a world
Of destin'd habitation; but thou know'st
Their seasons: among these the seat of men,
Earth with her nether ocean circumfus'd,

Their pleasant dwelling-place. Thrice happy men,
And sons of men, whom GOD hath thus advanc'd,
Created in his image, there to dwell

And worship him, and in reward to rule
Over his works, on earth, in sea, or air,
And multiply a race of worshippers
Holy and just thrice happy if they know
Their happiness, and persevere upright.

So sung they, and the empyrean rung With hallelujahs: Thus was sabbath kept.

A

MONUMENTAL INSCRIPTION,

ON THE DEATH OF HIS SON.

JANES.

I'm not design'd to say who lies beneath;

Which known how useless to the dead and thee!
Whoe'er thou art, or rich, or wise, or strong,
If thy proud heart is unsubdu'd by grace,
Thou hast within thy soul's unwearied foe→
Thy condemnation to infernal shades!

Life is uncertain-at the longest short! Lo, the grave yawns-eternity's in view!

Say, wretched sinner! how wilt thou escape?
But one resource remains-To JESUS fly-
With eyes full streaming, and a broken heart:
Thy stains his blood shall purge-his spirit guide
Thy feet into the way of perfect peace.

Thus ready for that dreaded, wish'd-for hour,
Thro' Death's cold shades thy soul shall fearless pass
To some bless'd region, till the awful trump
Proclaims the dawn of that eternal day,
In which with JESUS thou shalt ever reign.

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