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O thou that rearest with celestial aim The fature Seraph in my mortal frame, Thrice holy Faith! whatever thorns I meet, As on I totter with unpractised feet, Still let me stretch my arms nd cling to thee, Meek nurse of souls through their long infancy !
IMITATED FROM THE WELSH.
IF, while my passion I impart,
You deem my words untrue,
upon my heart
Ah no! reject the thoughtless claim
In pity to your Lover!
It wishes to discover.
Tell me, on what holy ground
WRITTEN AT THE KING'S ARMS, ROSS, FORMERLY
THE HOUSE OF “ THE MAN OF ROSS."
RICHER than Miser o'er his countless hoards,
ray. Beneath this roof if thy cheered moments pass, Fill to the good man's name one grateful glass : To higher zest shall Memory wake thy soul, And Virtue mingle in the ennobled bowl. But if, like me, through life's distressful scene Lonely and sad thy pilgrimage hath been; And if thy breast with heart-sick anguish fraught, Thou journeyest onward tempest-tossed in
thought; Here cheat thy cares ! in generous visions melt, And dream of Goodness, thou hast never felt !
TO A FRIEND,
TOGETHER WITH AN UNFINISHED POEM.
Thus far my scanty brain hath built the rhyme
I've viewed—her soul affectionate yet wise,
* I utterly recant the sentiment contained in the lines
Of whose omniscient and all-spreading Love
it being written in Scripture, “Ask, and it shall be given you;” and my human reason being, moreover, convinced of the propriety of offering petitions as well as thanksgivings to Deity.-S. T. C., 1797.