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POETRY.

On the Death of Dr. MIDDLETON.

PART III.

ERCY prolonged his dying hours,
That, wrestling with the hellish foe,
With principalities and powers,
He might his utmoft Saviour know:
Might at his faith in Jefu's blood,
Hold faft his adamantine fhield,
And fee the accufing fiend fubdued,
With all his fiery darts repelled.

The tempter asked and urged in vain,
Hath God indeed thy fins forgiven?
He hath, he hath, in mortal pain,

I cleave to Chrift, my life, my heaven!
Jefus, thou feeft my sprinkled heart,

My faith in Power almighty stands;
Thou wilt not let the accufer part,
Or pluck my foul out of thy hands.

The purchase of thy death I am,

On this my only hopes depend; Look on thy hands, and read my name, And keep me faithful to the end.

I do, I do believe on thee,

Thou knowet the grace by thee bestowed

I plunge me in the purple sea,

I bathe me in my Saviour's blood.

I will,

I will, I will on Jefus truft,

I cannot doubt his changeless love;
The fiend hath made his parting thrust,

But could not from my Rock remove.
My Saviour would not quit his own,
And, lo, in death I hold him faft!
Having my latest foe o'erthrown,
I fland and all is well at laft!

One only task is yet behind,

To blefs, as with his parting breath,
With love, unutterably kind,

With love furpaffing time and death:
Ready to quit the house of clay,
He leans on a beloved breaft,*
And finks in friendship's arms away,
And finds his everlasting reft.

ODE to WISDOM.

THE folitary bird of night,

Through the thick fhades now wings his flight,

And quits his time-fhook tower;

Where sheltered from the blaze of day,

In philofophic gloom he lay,

Beneath his ivy bower.

With joy I hear the folemn found,
Which midnight echoes waft around,

And fighing gales repeat:
Favourite of Pallas! I attend,
And, faithful to thy fummons, bend

At Wifdom's awful feat.

• Dr. Robertfony of Welis.

She

She loves the cool, the filent eye,
Where no falfe fhews of life deceive,
Beneath the lunar ray;

Here Folly drops each vain disguise,
Nor sport her gaily coloured dyes,
As in the beam of day.

Oh Wisdom queen of every Art,
That glads the sense, and mends the heart,
Bleft Source of purer joys!

In every form of beauty bright,
That captivates the mental fight,
With pleasure, and surprise,

To thy unspotted shrine I bow;
Attend the humble fuppliant's vow,
That breathes to wild defires;
But, taught by thy unerring rules,
To fhun the fruitlefs wifh of fools,
To nobler views afpire.

Not Fortune's gem, Ambition's plume,
Nor Cytherea's fading bloom,

Be objects of my prayér:

Let Avarice, Vanity, and Pride,
Those envyéd, glittering toys divide,
The dull rewards of Care.

To me thy better gifts impart,
Each moral beauty of the heart,

By ftudious thought refined;

For Wealth, the fmiles of glad content,

For Power, its ampleft, beft extent,

An empire o'er my mind!

When

When Fortune drops her gay parade,
When Pleasure's tranfient rofes fade,
And wither in the tomb;
Unchanged is thy immortal prize;
Thy ever-verdant laurels rife,
In undecaying bloom.

From envy, hurry, noise, and ftrife,
The dull impertinence of life,
In thy retreat I reft;

Pursue thee to the peaceful groves,
Where Plato's facred spirit roves,
In all thy beauties drest..

Thy breath infpires the Poet's fong,
The Patriot's free, unbiafséd tongue,
The Hero's genérous ftrife;
Thine are Retirement's filent joys,
And all the sweet engaging ties
Of ftill, domeftic life.

No more to fabled names confined; To thee, Supreme! all perfect Mind, My thoughts direct their flight: Wifdom's thy gift, and all her force From thee derived, eternal Source Of Intellectual Light!

Oh fend her fure, her steady ray,
To regulate my doubtful way

Through life's perplexing road:

The mists of Error to control,

And through its gloom direct my foul To happiness in God!