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IN TWO CANTOS.

CANTO I.

THE fear of God is freedom, joy and

peace,

And makes all ills that vex us here to ceafe.
Tho' the word Fear fome men may ill endure,
'Tis such a fear as only makes secure.
Afk of no angel to reveal thy fate;

Look in thy heart, the mirror of thy state.
He that invites will not th' invited mock,
Op'ning to all that do in earnest knock.
Our hopes are all well-grounded on this fear;
All our affurance rolls upon that sphere.
This fear, that drives all other fears away,
Shall be my fong the morning of our day?
Where that fear is there's nothing to be fear'd:
It brings from heav'n an angel for a guard.
Tranquillity and peace this fear does give;
Hell gapes for those that do without it live.
It is a beam which he on man lets fall
Of light, by which he made and governs all.
'Tis God alone fhould not offended be;
But we please others, as more great than he.
For a good cause the fufferings of man
May well be borne: 't is more than angels can.
Man, fince his fall, in no mean station rests,
Above the angels, or below the beasts

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He with true joy their hearts does only fill,
That thirst and hunger to perform his will.
Others, tho' rich, fhall in this world be vext,
And fadly live, in terrour of the next.

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The world's great conqu'ror would his point pursue, And wept because he could not find a new ;

Which had he done, yet still he would have cry'd, To make him work until a third he spy'd.

Ambition, avarice, will nothing owe

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To Heav'n itfelf, unless it make them grow.
Tho' richly fed, man's care does still exceed ; 35
Has but one mouth, yet would a thousand feed.
In wealth and honour, by fuch men possest,
If it increase not, there is found no rest.

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All their delight is while their wish comes in;
Sad when it stops, as there had nothing been.
"Tis ftrange men should neglect their present store,
And take no joy but in pursuing more;

No! tho' arriv'd at all the world can aim;
This is the mark and glory of our frame.
A foul capacious of the Deity,

Nothing but he that made can satisfy.

A thoufands worlds, if we with him compare,

Lefs than fo many drops of water are.

Men take no pleasure but in new designs;

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And what they hope for what they have outshines. 5D
Our sheep and oxen seem no more to crave,
With full content feeding on what they have;

* Alexander.

Vex not themselves for an increase of store,

But think to-morrow we shall give them more.

What we from day to day receive from Heav'n, 55 They do from us expect it should be giv'n.

We made them not, yet they on us rely,
More than vain men upon the Deity;

More beasts than they! that will not understand
That we are fed from his immediate hand.
Man, that in him has being, moves, and lives,
What can he have or use but what he gives?
So that no bread can nourishment afford,
Or useful be, without his Sacred Word.

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CANTO IF.

EARTH praifes conquerors for fhedding blood,
Heav'n thofe that love their foes, and do them good.
It is terrestrial honour to be crown'd

For ftrowing men, like rushes, on the ground.
True glory 't is to rise above them all,
Without th' advantage taken by their fall
He that in fight diminishes mankind,
Does no addition to his ftature find;
But he that does a noble nature fhow,
Obliging others, ftill does higher grow:
For virtue practis'd fuch an habit gives,
That among men he like an angel lives:
Humbly he doth, and without envy, dwell,
Lov'd and admir'd by thofe he does excel

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Fools anger fhew, which politicians hide;
Bleft with this fear, men let it not abide.
The humble man, when he receives a wrong,
Refers revenge to whom it doth belong :
Nor fees he reason why he should engage,
Or vex his spirit, for another's rage.
Plac'd on a rock, vain men he pities, toft
On raging waves, and in the tempest lost.
The rolling planets, and the glorious fun,
Still keep that order which they first begun:
They their first leffon constantly repeat,
Which their Creator as a law did set.

Above, below, exactly all obey;

But wretched men have found another way:
Knowledge of good and evil, as at first,

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(That vain persuasion!) keeps them still accurst! 30 The Sacred Word refufing as a guide,

Slaves they become to luxury and pride.
As clocks, remaining in the skilful hand

Of fome great mafter, at the figure ftand,
But when abroad, neglected they do go,

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At random strike, and the false hour do fhow;
So from our Maker wandering, we ftray,
Like birds that know not to their nests the way.
In him we dwelt before our exile here,

And may, returning, find contentment there: 40
True joy may find, perfection of delight,
Behold his face, and shun eternal night.

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Silence, my Muse! make not these jewels cheap, Expofing to the world too large an heap. Of all we read the Sacred Writ is beft, Where great truths are in fewest words exprest. Wrestling with death, these lines I did endite; No other theme could give my foul delight. O that my youth had thus employ'd my pen! Or that I now could write as well as then! But 't is of grace if sickness, age, and pain, Are felt as throes, when we are born again : Timely they come to wean us from this earth, As pangs that wait upon a fecond birth.

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