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Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software. The text has not been manually corrected and should not be relied on to be an accurate representation of the item.
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My fig-tree , ah ! ' tis barren found , The branches wither and decay ; Cut down , nor cumbering more the ground , Thy justice should ' st thou now display . Yet wait , though but another year , Thy fast ' ring * pains it , sure , will own ; Or , if abandon d in despair , ' I dread to speak- —thou'It cut it down . My ancient foe within me reigns , Whelms me in floods , torments in fire j Thus languishing with mortal pains , To thee alone my hopes aspire .
Thou quickly canst expel my foe And with new strength to gird the weak . On fasting , and on pray V bestow . The enduring virtues that I seek .
Christ is my witness , healed t ^ y these , From ttis dire pest I would be free O give my soul the wished release , And raise her , penitent , to thee . Give me the dread of guilty shame , Assur ed salvation may I seek : Let faith and hope my lore inflame 5 Give piety , all wise and meek .
Yes , give contempt of things below , The ardour breathe for things above : Such , Lord ! thou only canst bestow , Thy plenteous grace , O bid me prove Thou art my glory , thou my wealth , Whate ' er 1 have , declaies thy praise 3 My toiPs best solace , lost my health , The drooping bead ' tis thine to raise .
My song thou canst in grief awake , Each angry passion owns thy powV ; The iron bonds 'tis thine to break , 7 Tis thine the falPn to restore :
Virtue to g * uard hy wholesome fear , To save , should e ^ er her strength de cline : The wounded spirit thou canst cheer , The weak support , when foes combine . All mysteries thou canst declare ,
Or shroud in darkness thy decree : Yet , Lord ! may I ne ' er enter there , Where dread , infernal horrors be . Where sorrow wails , appal I'd by fear , Where evVy loathsome object ' s seen : Deformity is beauty there , There vice assumes fair virtue ' s mien . There wounds the * torture , ever slaying ,
There gnaws the worm that never dies 5 Still on each wretched captive preying , For none from hell's dire death arise . Me rather waft on mercy ' * wing To Sion ' s city , that blest bourn : Siim ! best work of heavVs high King , Whose gates the halloVd cross adorn :
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Whose keys are giv'n to Peters hand , Whose walls are ever-living stones 5 Whose Ruler , King , with influence bland , Sheds joy o ' er all her favour ed sons . Hers the pure light , that ne ' er decays , Eternal spring , perennial peace ; The fragrance that all Heav ' n displays , The strains awak'd by endless bliss .
Defilement never enters there , Nor strife they fear , nor want they dread : The heav ' nly forms , erect and fair , Are all conformed to Christy their bead . Thee ! sacred seat ! secure abode , Fix'd on a rock , my heart desires 5 A pilgrim o er life ' s toilsome road I greet , from far . thy radiant spires .
Thee would my longing eyes behold , To reach thy gates my-fondest pray ' r How glad thy sons , can ne ' er be told , What festive joys they raptur'd share What love thy kindred spirits own ; What gems thy stately turrets grace * The jacynth and the chalcedon Are known but to thy favou r'd race .
Blest city ! through each sacred street . Be mine to seek the pious throng 5 Elijah ^ Moses , there to greet , And join the everlasting song .
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SONNET . Occasioned by the Death of the Re * . B . Goodier . When tempest-tost upon the stormy main , We yiew a little skiff before- us ride , And boldly wrestling with the rapid tide ,
The wished-for haven all securely gain : How eagerly we urge our bark along , Nor heed the swellings of the boisterous gale , That scatters in the wind our slender sail , As . the wild mountain-billows round us
throng . So wjien the virtuous yield their mortal trust , Tho' youth or beauty perish , in the tomb , Yet hope shines blighter 'naid the
funeral gloom , To guide us to the mansions of the just : And we will haste to gain that land of rest , Where hope is certainty , and virtue blest .
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648 Poetry . — Sonnet on Rev . B . Go&die >\< — Front Moore ' s National Melodies
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FROM MOORE'S NATIONAL MELODIES . Those evening bells , those evening bells . How many a tale their music tells , Of youth and home , and that sweet time Since last I heard their soothing chime .
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Citation
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Monthly Repository (1806-1838) and Unitarian Chronicle (1832-1833), Oct. 2, 1818, page 648, in the Nineteenth-Century Serials Edition (2008; 2018) ncse.ac.uk/periodicals/mruc/issues/vm2-ncseproduct2481/page/48/
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