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THE MAN OF THE WORLD!

From a boy much indulg'd, he grew up to a man, And had liberty almost unbounded; Nor scarce ever thought of this life's little span, With prospects of plenty surrounded!

His steed, like himself, in high spirits he views, As it snuffs at the fresh flowing fountain; On which oft at daybreak he brushes the dews, And gallops o'er valley and mountain!

His cheek round and fat, wears the hue of the rose, He seems quite a stranger to sorrow; And while on his sofa his limbs find repose, He laughs loudly, and talks of to-morrow!

"To-morrow," says he, "you must call up the hounds, As soon as the light is appearing!"- Not thinking that Death while rambling his rounds, To his mansion a message is bearing,

"To-morrow," says he, "we'll unkennel the fox, Or in his old cabin we'll crush him; Or when we have got him away from the rocks, In spite of Old Harry we'll brush him!

And then we will dine on the lamb or the goose, Which, if he had liv'd would have fill'd him; Then o'er a full bumper we'll have a carouse, And we'll sing where he fell, and who kill'd him!"

But ah! when life's stern disappointment he meets, Like a lion imprison'd he grieves, That he who expected so much of life's sweets, So soon of its bitters receives!

Disease o'er his fortified barriers leaps, And with internal pain soon afflicts him;- Next into his chamber the pale monster creeps, And singles him out as his victim!

Like a leaf that in autumn falls dead from the tree, Soon a train is seen weeping behind him:- A visit I made, his improvements to see, And I look'd, but alas, could not find him!

THE RULE OF CONTRARY!

Some men have Rules so incorrect, They almost always vary; And some make Rules to gain respect, But I'm for one contrary!

Some strive to gain the smiles of men, But I prefer their frown; The torrent of my pride to stem, And keep ambition down!

The praise of men's an empty thing, And crowns and sceptres vain, To him who seeks the "living spring,"

As parch'd lands look for rain!

Some recommend the hearty laugh, But I prefer the tear, Which tells me that my heart is soft, My hope of heaven is clear!

Some say, "Give me the tavern song!"

But I prefer the sigh, Which though unnoticed by the throng, Yet pierces to the sky!

Some say, "Give me that pleasing look, Which does the fancy win!"

But give me one that's plain without, If she be fair within!

Some plead for ornamental dress, The concert and the ball; Except the Robe of Righteousness, Let me be stript of all!

Some love with dealers dark to dwell, And glory in the night; But I would shun the road to hell, Therefore I love the light!

Some love their minds with tales to feed, Of regions yet untrod;- When I've a little time to read, Give me the Book of God!

Some praise a head of natural wit And worldly wisdom full; Without the truths of Holy Writ, Give me an empty skull!

The jet, the gold, or ivory cross, By many is admir'd; But I esteem the blood of Him, Who on the cross expir'd!

My heart with sin as crimson dyed, Would ever so remain; But if that blood by faith's applied, 'Twill cleanse from every stain!

With some their fill of pleasure here, Is all the good they crave:- Give me a humble, holy fear, A hope beyond the grave!

At wisdom's shrine I'll light my torch, And in her pleasant ways, Under the Nazarene's reproach, I'll live out all my days!

Thus whether sanction'd or despis'd, Such is my fancy's Rule; In keeping which I shall be wise, Although accounted fool!

Let the free thinker take the hint, And with my creed agree; That all are not compell'd to think, Nor speak the same as he!

ON FINDING SOME DEISTICAL BOOKS IN THE HOUSE OF ONE WHO ONCE FEARED GOD!

"_How is the gold become dim!_" (Lamen. iv. 1.)

False publications throw their gloomy rays, Where once the Sun of Righteousness did shine; With pain we recollect the former days, While scoffing infidels their voices join!

Insulting Heav'n, they oft with brazen brow, Deny our Saviour is the Son of God!

But soon to Him their every knee shall bow, And they shall groan beneath His iron rod!

What madness to defy His power above, To slight that blood which has their souls redeem'd; To him who does his God sincerely love, How painful 'tis to hear His name blasphem'd!

O let us flee these men of wicked minds, Whose glory reaches not beyond the grave; Who to accomplish their absurd designs, Dethrone our King, and style the conquest brave!

Yet still He reigns, and shall for ever hold, In massy chains the gloomy powers of Hell; They soon His second coming shall behold, And howling, see the place from whence they fell!

Ah! surely Satan's thousand years are up, And he once more is suffer'd loose to go!

His object is to stagger Israel's hope, And drag them captive to his den below!

Come down, O Lord! and bid thy thunders roll!

Send forth thy lightnings, and thy foes consume!

O let them know that thou wilt them controul, In each, and all the shapes which they assume!

Gird on thy sword, thou mighty matchless King!

Reclaim these poor deluded sons of men!

O save them from the cruel serpent's sting; And drive him back to his infernal den!

If Israel's hope is not quite lost in death, May these dry bones the Word of God receive!

Come from the four winds, O reviving breath, And breathe upon these slain, that they may live!

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