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S fome new Star attracts th' admiring Sight,
His Splendors pouring through the Fields
Whole Nights, delighted with th' unusual Rays,
On the fair heav'nly Vistant we gaze:
So thy fam'd Volumes sweet Surprise impart:
Mark'd by all Eyes, and felt in ev'ry Heart.
Nature inform'd by Thee, new Paths has trod,
And rises, here, a Preacher for her God;
By Fancy's Aids mysterious Heights she tries,
And lures us by our Senses, to the Skies.
To deck thy Stile collected Graces throng,
Bold as the Pencil's Tints, yet soft as Song.
In Themes, how rich thy Vein! how pure thy
Choice ! Transcripts of Truths, own'd clear from Scrip
ture's Voice: Thy Judgment these, and Piety atteft Transcripts—read only fairer in thy Breast. There, what thy Works would shew, we best may
fee, And all they teach in Doctrine, lives in Thee.
Oh!-might they live !-Our Prayers their
But thy fix'd Languors yield us sad Presage.
In vain skill'd Med'cine tries her healing Art:
Disease, long Foe, entrenches at thy Heart.
Yet on new Labours still thy Mind is prone,
For a World's Good too thoughtless of thy own.
Active, like Day's kindOrb, Life's Course you run,
Its Sphere still glorious, tho' a setting Sun.
Redemption opes Thee wide her healing Plan,
Health's only Balm; her sov'reign'ft Gift to Man.
Themes sweet like these thy Ardors, fresh, excite:
Warm at the Soul, they nerve thy Hand to
Make thy try'd Virtues in their Charms appear,
Patience, rais'd Hope, firm Faith, and Love fincere ;
Like a big Constellation, bright they glow,
And beam out lovelier by thy Night of Woe.
Known were thy Merits to the Public long,
Ere own'd thus feebly in my humble Song.
Damp'd are my Fires: my Heart dark Cares
A Heart, too feeling from its own Distress.
Proud on thy Friendship, yet to build my Fame,
I gain'd my Page * a San&tion from thy Name.
Weak thefe Returns (by Gratitude tho' led)
Where mine shall in thy fav’rite Leaves be read.
Yet, o'er my conscious Meanness Hope prevails ;
Love gives me Merit, where my Genius fails.
On its strong Base my small Desert I raise,
Averse to Flatt'ry, as unskill'd to praise.
Feb. 23, 1749
Celestial Visions bless thy studious Hours,
Thy lonely Walks, and thy fequcíter'd Bow'rs.
What fav’ring Pow'r, dispensing secret Aids, Thy cavern'd Cell, thy curtain'd Couch, per
vades? Still hov’ring near, observant of thy Themes, In Whispers prompts thee,orinspires thy Dreams? Jesus! Effulgence of paternal Light! Ineffably divine! fupremely bright! Whose Énergy according Worlds attest, Kindled these Ardors in thy glowing Breast. We catch thy Flame, as we thy Page peruse ; And Faith in every Object Jesus views. We in the bloomy breathing Garden trace Somewhat-like Émanations of his Grace: Yet must all Sweetness and all Beauty yield, Idume's Grove, and Sharon's Flow’ry Field, Compar'd with Jesus: Meanly, meanly shows The brightest Lily, faint the loveliest Rose.
Divine Instructor! lead thro'midnight Glooms, To moralizing Stars, and preaching Tombs : Thro’the still Void a Saviour's Voice shall break, A Ray from Jacob's Star the Darkness streak: To Him the fairest Scenes their Lustre owe; His Cov'nant brightens the celestial Bow; His vast Benevolence profusely spreads The yellow Harvests, and the verdant Meads.
Thy Pupil, Hervey, a Redeemer finds In boundless Oceans, and in viewless Winds: He reins at Will the furious Blast, and guides The rending Tempests, and the roaring Tides. O give, my Soul, thy Welfare to his Truft: Whorais'd the World,can raise thy sleeping Duft! b3
He will, he will, when Nature's Course is run,
Midft falling Stars, and an extinguish'd Sun:
He will with Myriads of his Saints appear,
O may I join them, tho' the meanest there!
Tho' nearer to the Throne my HERVEY fings;
Tho'l at humbler Distance ftrike the Strings;
Yet both shall mingle in the fame Employ,
Both drink the Fulness of eternal Joy.
John Duick. Clarkenwell-Green, Feb. 24, 1749.
W The Monarch of the golden Day,
Night's ample Canopy unfurl'd,
In gloomy Grandeur round the World,
The Earth in Spring's Embroid'ry dreft,
And Ocean's ever-working Breaft!
And still no grateful Honours rise
To Him who spread the spacious Skies,
Who hung this Air-suspended Ball,
And lives, and reigns, and shines, in All!
To chase our sensual Fogs away,
And bright to pour th' eternal Ray
Of Deity, inscrib’d around
Wide Nature to her utmost Bound,
Is Hervey's Talk; and well his Skill
Celestial can the Task fulfil:
Ascending from these Scenes below,
Ardent the Maker's Praise to show,
His facred Contemplations foar,
And teach our Wonder to adore.
Now he surveys the Realms beneath, The Realms of Horror, and of Death; Now entertains his vernal Hours In flow'ry Walks, and blooming Bow'rs; Now hails the black-brow'd Night, that brings Æthereal Dews upon her Wings; Now marks the Planets, as they roll On burning Axles round the Pole: While Tombs, and Flow'rs, and Shades, and Stars, Unveil their sacred Characters Of Justice, Wisdom, Pow'r, and Love; And lifts the Soul to Realms above, Where dwells the God, in Glory crown'd, Who sends his boundless Influence round.
So Jacob, in his blissful Dreams,
Array'd in Heav'n's refulgent Beams !
Saw from the Ground a Scale arise,
Whose summit mingled with the Skies:
Angels were pleas'd to pass the Road,
The Stage to Earth, and Path to God.
HERVEY, proceed : For Nature yields
Fresh Treasure in her ample Fields;
And in seraphic Ecstasy
Still bears us to the Throne on high.
Ocean's wild Wonders next explore,
His changing Scenes, and secret Store;
Or let dire EARTHQUAKE claim thy Toil,
EARTHQUAKE, that shakes a guilty lfle.
So, if small Things may shadow forth,
Dear Man, thy Labours, and thy Worth,
The Bee upon the flow'ry Lawn,
Imbibes the lucid Drops of Dawn,
Works them in his myfterious Mould,
And turns the common Dew to Gold.
THOMAS GIBBONS. London, May 26, 1750.