ON HIS PRACTICAL DISCOURSE CONCERNING DEATH .

Forgive the Muse, who, in unhallow'd strains,
The Saint one moment from his God detains:
For sure, whate'er you do, where'er you are,
'Tis all but one good work, one constant prayer:
Forgive her; and entreat that God, to whom
Thy favour'd vows with kind acceptance come,
To raise her notes to that sublime degree,
Which suits a song of piety and thee.
Wondrous good man! whose labours may repel
The force of sin, may stop the rage of hell:
Thou, like the Baptist, from thy God was sent,
The crying voice, to bid the world repent.
The Youth shall study, and no more engage
Their flattering wishes for uncertain age;
No more with fruitless care, and cheated strife,
Chase fleeting Pleasure through this maze of life:
Finding the wretched all they here can have,
But present food, and but a future grave:
Each, great as Philip's victor son, shall view
This abject world, and, weeping, ask a new.
Decrepid Age shall read thee, and confess
Thy labours can assuage, where medicines cease;
Shall bless thy words, their wounded soul's relief,
The drops that sweeten their last dregs of life;
Shall look to Heaven, and laugh at all beneath;
Own riches gather'd, trouble; fame, a breath;
And life an ill, whose only cure is death.
Thy even thoughts with so much plainness flow,
Their sense untutor'd infancy may know:
Yet to such height is all that plainness wrought,
Wit may admire, and letter'd Pride be taught:
Easy in words, thy style in sense sublime,
On its blest steps each age and sex may rise;
'Tis like the ladder in the Patriarch's dream,
Its foot on earth, its height above the skies,
Diffus'd its virtue, boundless is its power;
'Tis public health, and universal cure;
Of heavenly manna 'tis a second feast;
A nation's food, and all to every taste.
To its last height mad Britain's guilt was rear'd;
And various death for various crimes she fear'd.
With your kind work her drooping hopes revive;
You bid her read, repent, adore, and live:
You wrest the bolt from Heaven's avenging hand;
Stop ready death, and save a sinking land.
O! save us still: still bless us with thy stay:
O! want thy Heaven, till we have learnt the way:
Refuse to leave thy destin'd charge too soon:
And for the church's good, defer thy own.
O! live: and let thy works urge our belief;
Live to explain thy doctrine by thy life;
Till future infancy, baptiz'd by thee,
Grow ripe in years, and old in piety;
Till Christians, yet unborn, be taught to die.
Then in full age, and hoary holiness,
Retire, great teacher! to thy promis'd bliss:
Untouch'd thy tomb, uninjur'd be thy dust,
As thy own fame among the future just;
Till in last sounds the dreadful trumpet speaks;
Till Judgment calls; and quicken'd Nature wakes:
Till through the utmost earth, and deepest sea,
Our scatter'd atoms find their destin'd way,
In haste to clothe their kindred souls again,
Perfect our state, and build immortal man:
Then fearless thou, who well sustain'st the fight,
To paths of Joy, or tracts of endless light,
Lead up all those who heard thee, and believ'd;
'Midst thy own flock, great shepherd, be receiv'd;
And glad all Heaven with millions thou hast sav'd.