When, from the confines of the grave, The body too shall rise, 10 No more precarious passion's slave, Nor error's sacrifice. 'Tis but a sleep--and Sion's king Will call the many dead; 'Tis but a sleep--and then we sing O'er dreams of sorrow fled. Yes!--wintry winds have ceased to blow, And trembling leaves appear, And Nature has her types to show Throughout the varying year. 20 MY BIRTH-DAY. Aldborough, December 24, 1778. Through a dull tract of woe, of dread, The toiling year has pass'd and fled: And, lo! in sad and pensive strain, I sing my birth-day date again. Trembling and poor, I saw the light, New waking from unconscious night; Trembling and poor I still remain, To meet unconscious night again. Time in my pathway strews few flowers, To cheer or cheat the weary hours; 10 And those few strangers, dear indeed, Are choked, are check'd, by many a weed. TO ELIZA. Beccles, 1779. The Hebrew king, with spleen possest, By David's harp was soothed to rest; Yet, when the magic song was o'er, The soft delusion charm'd no more; The former fury fired the brain, And every care return'd again. But had he known Eliza's skill To bless the sense and bind the will, To bid the gloom of care retire, And fan the flame of fond desire, 10 Remembrance then had kept the strain, And not a care return'd again. LIFE. Aldborough, 1779. Think ye, the joys that fill our early day, Are the poor prelude to some full repast? Think you, they _promise_?--ah! believe they _pay_; The purest ever, they are oft the last. The jovial swain that yokes the morning team, And all the verdure of the field enjoys, See him, how languid, when the noon-tide beam Plays on his brow, and all his force destroys. So 'tis with us, when, love and pleasure fled, We at the summit of our hill arrive: 10 Lo! the gay lights of Youth are past--are dead, But what still deepening clouds of Care survive! THE SACRAMENT. Aldborough, 1779. O sacred gift of God to man, A faith that looks above, And sees the deep amazing plan Of sanctifying love. Thou dear and yet tremendous God, Whose glory pride reviles; How did'st thou change thy awful rod To pard'ning grace and smiles! Shut up with sin, with shame below, I trust, this bondage past, 10 A great, a glorious change to know, And to be bless'd at last. I _do_ believe, that, God of light! Thou didst to earth descend, With Satan and with Sin to fight-- Our great, our only friend. I _know_ thou did'st ordain for me, Thy creature, bread and wine; The depth of grace I cannot see, But worship the design. 20