1 we already possess, and from whom expect every thing we yet hope for. Most of the works of the Pagan poets were either direct hymns to their deities, or tended indirectly to the celebration of their respective attributes and per fections. Those who are acquainted with the works of the Greek and Latin poets which are still extant, will upon reflection find this obfervation so true, that I shall not enlarge upon it. One would wonder that more of our Christian poets have not turned their thoughts this way, especially if we confider, that our idea of the Supreme Being is not only infinitely more great and noble than what could poffibly enter into the heart of an Heathen, but filled with every thing that can raise the imagination, and give an opportunity for the fublimest thoughts and conceptions. Plutarch tells us of a Heathen who was finging an hymn to Diana, in which he celebrated her for her delight in human facrifices, and other instances of cruelty and revenge : Upon which a poet who was present at this piece of devotion, and seems to have had a truer idea of the Divine nature, told the votary by way of reproof, that in recompence for his hymn, he heartily wished he might have a daughter of the fame temper with the goddess he celebrated. It was indeed impossible to write the praises of one of those false deities, according to the Pagan creed, without a mixture of impertinence and abfurdity. The Jews, who before the times of chriftianity were the only people that had the knowledge of the true God, have set the christian world an example how they ought to employ this divine talent of which I am speaking. As that nation produced men of great genius, without confidering them as inspired writers, they have tranfmitted to us many hymns and divine odes, which excel those that are delivered down to us by the antient Greeks and Romans, in the poetry, as much as in the fubject to which it was confecrated. This I think might easily be shewn, if there were occafion for it. I have already communicated to the public fome pieces of divine poetry, and as they have met with a very favourable reception, I shall from time to time publish any work of the fame nature which has not yet appeared in print, and may be acceptable to my readers. VII. Ibrough hidden dangers, toils, and deaths,. It gently clear'd my way, T GRIEF. HERE are those among mankind, who can enjoy no relish of their being, except the world is made acquainted with all that relates to them, and think every thing loft that passes unobserved; but others find a folid delight in stealing by the crowd, and modelling their life after such a manner, as is as much above the approbation, as the practice of the vulgar. Life being too short to give inftances great enough of true friendship or good-will, some sages have thought it pious to preferve a certain reverence for the manes of their deceased friends, and have withdrawn themselves from the rest of the world at certain seasons, to commemorate in their own thoughts such of their acquaintance who have gone before them out of this life: And indeed, when we are advanced in years, there is not a more pleasing entertainment, than to recollect in a gloomy moment the many we have parted with that have been dear and agreeable to us, and to cast a melancholy thought or two after those, with whom, perhaps, we have indulged ourselves in whole nights of mirth and jollity. With fuch inclinations in my heart I went to my closet yefterday in the evening, and refolved to be forrowful; upon which occafion I could not but look with disdain upon myself, that though all the reasons which I had to lament the loss of many of my friends are now as forcible as at the moment of their departure, yet did not my heart swell with the same forrow which I felt at that time; but could without tears, reflect upon many pleasing adventures I have had with fome who have long been blended with common earth. Though it is by the benefit of nature that length of time thus blots out the violence of afflictions; yet with tempers too much given to pleasure, it is almost necessary to revive the old places of grief in our memory, and ponder step by step on our past life, to lead the mind into that fobriety of thought which poizes the heart, and makes it beat with due time without being quickened with defire, or retarded with defpair, from its proper and equal motion. When we wind up a clock that is out of order, to make it go well for the future, we do not immediately set the hand to the present instant, but we make it strike the round of all its hours, before it can recover the regularity of its time. Such, thought I, shall be my method this evening; and fince it is that day of the year which I dedicate to the memory of fuch in another life as I much delighted in when living, an hour or two shall be sacred to forrow and their memory, while I run over all the melancholy circumstances of this kind which have occurred to me in my whole life. I re The first sense of forrow I ever knew, was upon the death of my father, at which time I was not quite five years of age; but was rather amazed at what all the house meant, than poffefsed with a real understanding why no body was willing to play with me. member I went into the room where his body lay, and my mother sat weeping alone by it. I had my battledore in my hand, and fell a beating the coffin, and calling papa; for, I know not how, I had fome flight idea that he was locked up there. My mother catched me in her arms, and, transported beyond all patience by the filent grief she was before in, the almost smothered me in her embrace, and told me in a flood of tears, papa could not hear me, and would play with me no more, for they were going to put him under ground. whence he could never come to us again. She was a very beautiful woman, of a noble spirit, and there was a dignity in her grief amid all the wildness of her transport, which, methought, struck me with an instinct of forrow, which, before I was fenfible of what it was to grieve, seized my very foul, and has made pity the weakness of my heart ever fince. The mind in infancy is, methinks, like the body in embryo, and receives impreffions so forcible, that they are as hard to be removed by reason, as any mark with which a child is born, is to be taken away by any future application. nature in me is no merit; quently overwhelmed with VOL. II. M Hence it is, that goodbut having been so freher tears before I knew 1 |