(Jeremiah, XXXI. 18-20) My God, till I received Thy stro… How like a beast was I! So unaccustom’d to the yoke, So backward to comply.

All-worshipped Gold! thou mighty… Say by what name shall I address… Our blessing, or our bane? Withou… The generous pangs of pity but dis… The human heart, that fain would f…

’Tis my happiness below Not to live without the cross, But the Saviour’s power to know, Sanctifying every loss; Trials must and will befall;

This evening, Delia, you and I, Have managed most delightfully, For with a frown we parted; Having contrived some trifle that We both may be much troubled at,

The lover, in melodious verses, His singular distress rehearses; Still closing with a rueful cry, ‘Was ever such a wretch as I!’ Yes! thousands have endured before

No strength of nature can suffice To serve the Lord aright: And what she has she misapplies, For want of clearer light. How long beneath the law I lay

What Nature, alas! has denied To the delicate growth of our isle… Art has in a measure supplied, And winter is deck’d with a smile. See, Mary, what beauties I bring

Beneath the hedge or near the stre… A worm is known to stray, That shows by night a lucid beam, Which disappears by day. Disputes have been and still preva…

All are indebted much to thee, But I far more than all, From many a deadly snare set free, And raised from many a fall. Overwhelm me, from above,

Austin, accept a grateful verse fr… The poet’s treasure, no inglorious… Loved by the Muses, thy ingenuous… Pleasing requital in my verse may… Verse oft has dashed the scythe of…

In painted plumes superbly dress’d… A native of the gorgeous east, By many a billow toss’d; Poll gains at length the British… Part of the captain’s precious sto…

None ever shared the social feast, Or as an inmate or a guest, Beneath the celebrated dome Where once Sir Isaac had his home… Who saw not (and with some delight

Trust me the meed of praise, dealt… From the nice scale of judgement,… Than does the lavish and o’erbeari… Of profuse courtesy. Not all the… Of India’s richest soil at random…

These are not dew-drops, these are… And tears by Sally shed For absent Robin, who she fears With too much cause, is dead. One morn he came not to her hand

Other stones the era tell, When some feeble mortal fell; I stand here to date the birth Of these hardy sons of earth. Which shall longest brave the sky,