SOME REFLECTIONS OF HIS UPON THE SEVERAL PETITIONS IN THE SAME PRAYER. 1 His sacred name with reverence profound Should mention'd be, and trembling at the sound! It was Jehovah; 'tis Our Father now; So low to us does Heaven vouchsafe to bow![1] He brought it down that taught us how to pray, And did so dearly for our ransom pay. 2 _His kingdom come._ For this we pray in vain Unless he does in our affections reign. Absurd it were to wish for such a King, And not obedience to His sceptre bring, Whose yoke is easy, and His burthen light, His service freedom, and his judgments right. 3 _His will be done._ In fact 'tis always done; But, as in heaven, it must be made our own. His will should all our inclinations sway, Whom Nature, and the universe, obey. Happy the man! whose wishes are confined To what has been eternally designed; Referring all to His paternal care, To whom more dear than to ourselves we are. 4 It is not what our avarice hoards up; 'Tis He that feeds us, and that fills our cup; Like new-born babes depending on the breast, From day to day we on His bounty feast; Nor should the soul expect above a day, To dwell in her frail tenement of clay; The setting sun should seem to bound our race, And the new day a gift of special grace. 5 _That he should all our trespasses forgive_, While we in hatred with our neighbours live; Though so to pray may seem an easy task, We curse ourselves when thus inclined we ask, This prayer to use, we ought with equal care Our souls, as to the sacrament, prepare. The noblest worship of the Power above, Is to extol, and imitate his love; Not to forgive our enemies alone, But use our bounty that they may be won. 6 _Guard us from all temptations of the foe_; And those we may in several stations know; The rich and poor in slipp'ry places stand. Give us enough, but with a sparing hand! Not ill-persuading want, nor wanton wealth, But what proportion'd is to life and health. For not the dead, but living, sing thy praise, Exalt thy kingdom, and thy glory raise. Favete linguis!... Virginibus puerisque canto.--HOR. [1] 'Vouchsafe to bow': Psalm xviii. 9. ON THE FOREGOING DIVINE POEMS. When we for age could neither read nor write, The subject made us able to indite; The soul, with nobler resolutions deck'd, The body stooping, does herself erect. No mortal parts are requisite to raise Her that, unbodied, can her Maker praise. The seas are quiet when the winds give o'er; So, calm are we when passions are no more! For then we know how vain it was to boast Of fleeting things, so certain to be lost. Clouds of affection from our younger eyes Conceal that emptiness which age descries.