"'Conviction comes like lightning,' he would cry; 'In vain you seek it, and in vain you fly; 'Tis like the rushing of the mighty wind, Unseen its progress, but its power you find; It strikes the child ere yet its reason wakes; 920 His reason fled, the ancient sire it shakes. The proud, learn'd man, and him who loves to know How and from whence these gusts of grace will blow, It shuns,--but sinners in their way impedes, And sots and harlots visits in their deeds: Of faith and penance it supplies the place; } Assures the vilest that they live by grace, } And, without running, makes them win the race.' } "Such was the doctrine our young prophet taught; And here conviction, there confusion wrought; 930 When his thin cheek assumed a deadly hue, And all the rose to one small spot withdrew: They call'd it hectic; 'twas a fiery flush, More fix'd and deeper than the maiden blush; His paler lips the pearly teeth disclosed, And lab'ring lungs the length'ning speech opposed. No more his span-girth shanks and quiv'ring thighs Upheld a body of the smaller size; But down he sank upon his dying bed, And gloomy crotchets fill'd his wandering head.-- 940 "'Spite of my faith, all-saving faith,' he cried, 'I fear of worldly works the wicked pride; Poor as I am, degraded, abject, blind, The good I've wrought still rankles in my mind; My alms-deeds all, and every deed I've done, My moral-rags defile me, every one; It should not be--what say'st thou? tell me, Ralph.' Quoth I, 'Your reverence, I believe, you're safe; Your faith's your prop, nor have you pass'd such time In life's good-works as swell them to a crime. 950 If I of pardon for my sins were sure, About my goodness I would rest secure.' "Such was his end; and mine approaches fast; I've seen my best of preachers--and my last."-- He bow'd, and archly smiled at what he said, Civil but sly:--"And is old Dibble dead?" Yes! he is gone: and WE are going all; Like flowers we wither, and like leaves we fall;-- Here, with an infant, joyful sponsors come, Then bear the new-made Christian to its home; 960 A few short years, and we behold him stand, To ask a blessing, with his bride in hand: A few, still seeming shorter, and we hear His widow weeping at her husband's bier:-- Thus, as the months succeed, shall infants take Their names; thus parents shall the child forsake; Thus brides again and bridegrooms blithe shall kneel, By love or law compell'd their vows to seal, Ere I again, or one like me, explore These simple annals of the VILLAGE POOR. 970 FOOTNOTES: [24] Young's _The Complaint, or Night Thoughts, Night_ I. [25] See p. 170. THE BIRTH OF FLATTERY.