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See his fierce reviler Saul,

How he rails with impious breath,. Then observe converted Paul,

Oft in perils, oft in death.

'Twas that God whose sovereign power,

Did the lion's fury swage, Could again in one short hour,

Still the persecutor's rage.

Ev'n a woman-women hear,
Read in Maccabees the story,
Conquer'd nature, love and fear,
To obtain a crown of glory.

Seven stout sons she saw expire,
(How the mother's soul was pain'd,)
Some by sword, and some by fire,
How the Martyr was sustain'd.

Even in death's acutest anguish,
Each the tyrant still defy'd;
Each she saw in torture languish,
Last of all the mother dy'd.
Martyrs who were thus arrested,
In their short but bright career,
By their blood the truth attested,
Prov'd their faith and love sincere.
Tho' their lot was hard and lowly,
Tho' they perish'd at the stake;
Now they live with God in glory,
Since they suffer'd for his sake..
H2

Fierce.

Fierce and unbelieving foes,
But their bodies could destroy;
Short tho' bitter were their woes,
Everlasting is their joy.

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REAT God! when Famine threaten'd late

To scourge our guilty land,

O did we learn from that dark fate
To dread thy mighty hand?

Did then our sins to mem❜ry rise?
Or own'd we God was just?
Or rais'd we penitential cries?
Or bow'd we in the dust?

Did we forsake one evil path,
Was any sin abhorr'd?

Or did we deprecate thy wrath,
And turn us to the Lord?

'Th

'Tis true we fail'd not to repine,
But did we too repent?
Or own the chastisement divine
In awful judgment sent?

Tho' the bright chain of peace is broke,
And war with ruthless sword
Unpeoples nations at a stroke,

Yet who regards the Lord ?

But God, who in his strict decrees
Remembers mercy still,
Can, in a moment, if he please,
Our hearts with comfort fill..

He mark'd our angry spirits rise,
Domestic hate increase;
And for a time withheld supplies,
To teach us love and peace.

He, when he brings his children low,
Has blessings still in store;

And when he strikes the heaviest blow
He does but love us more.

Now FROST, and FLOOD, and BLIGHT no

more

Our golden harvests spoil;
See what an unexampled store
Rewards the Reaper's toil!

As when the promis'd harvest fail'd
In Canaan's fruitful land;

The envious Patriarchs were assail'd
By famine's pressing hand!

The

The angry brothers then forgot
Each fierce and jarring feud;
United by their adverse lot,

They lov'd as brothers shou'd,

So here, from Heaven's correcting hand
Tho' famine fail'd to move;
Let Plenty now throughout the land,
Rekindle peace and love.

Like the rich fool, let us not say,
Soul! thou hast goods in store!
But shake the overplus away,
To feed the aged poor.

Let rich and poor, on whom are now
Such bounteous crops bestow'd,
Raise many a pure and holy vow
In gratitude to God!

And while his gracious name we praise
For bread so kindly given;
Let us beseech him all our days,
To give the bread of heav'n.

In that blest Prayer our Lord did frame,
Of all our prayers the guide,.
We ask that hollow'd be his name,"
And then our wants supplied.

For grace he bids us first implore,
Next, that we may be fed;

We say "Thy will be done," before
We ask "our daily bread."

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93

DAME ANDREWS.

N

A BALLAD.

[EAR Lechlade Town, in Glo'stershire, Upon the banks of Thame,

There liv'd an honest worthy pair,

And Andrews was their name.

Tho' but a labourer was he,

And children they had four:
Content and comfort they enjoy'd,
Want came not near their door.

For all his earnings John brought home,
He ne'er to alehouse went;
And Mary manag'd what he brought;
Right frugally they spent..

The cottage look'd in order still,

The children clean and tight:
And John still found some wholesome fare,
When he came home at night,

The children early taught to spin
Added their little gains;

And though their earnings were but small,
They amply paid the pains,

For every little matter helps.
When carefully 'tis us'd:
And whatsoever Mary got,
It never was abus'd.

Industriously

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