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44 MERCY WARREN.

No despot here shall rule with awful sway,
Nor orphan's spoils become the minion's prey;
No more the widow'd bleeding bosom mourns,
Nor injured cities weep their slaughter'd sons;
For then each tyrant, by the hand of fate,
And standing troops, the bane of every state,
For ever spurn'd, shall be removed as far
As bright Hesperus from the polar star;
Freedom and virtue shall united reign,
And stretch their empire o'er the wide domain;
On a broad base the commonwealth shall stand,
When lawless power withdraws its impious hand,
When crowns and sceptres are grown useless things,
Nor petty praetors plunder here for kings.

Then bless'd Religion in her purest forms,
Beyond the reach of persecuting storms,
In purest azure gracefully arranged,
In native majesty shall stand display'd.
Till courts revere her ever sacred shrine,
And nobles feel her influence divine;
Princes and peasants catch the glorious flame,
And lisping infants praise Jehovah's name!

TO AN AMIABLE FRIEND MOURNING THE DEATH OF AN EXCELLENT FATHER.
Let deep dejection hide her pallid face,
And from thy breast each painful image rase;
Forbid thy lip to utter one complaint,
But view the glories of the rising saint,
Ripe for a crown, and waiting the reward
Of watching long the vineyard of the Lord.

The generous purpose of his zealous heart,
Truth to enforce, and knowledge to impart,

MERCY WARREN. 45

Insures his welcome on the unknown shore,
Where choirs of saints, and angel forms adore.
A seraph met him on the trackless way,
And strung his harp to join the heavenly lay.

Complain no more of Death's extensive power,
Whose sceptre wafts us to some blissful shore;
Where the rough billows that roll o'er the head,
That shake the frame, and fill the mind with dread,
Are hush'd in silence, and the soul serene
Looks back delighted on the closing scene.

Happy, thrice happy, that exalted mind,
Who, leaving earth and all its cares behind,
Has not a wish to ruffle or control
The equal temper of his tranquil soul,
Who, on a retrospect, is safe within;
No private passion, nor a darling sin,
Can check his hope when death's insatiate pow'r
Stands hovering on the last decisive hour.

Then weep no more, my friend, but all resigned,
Submit thy will to the Eternal Mind,
Who watches o'er the movements of the just,
And will again reanimate the dust!
Thy sire commands, suppress the rising sigh,
He wipes the tear from thy too filial eye,
And bids thee contemplate a soul set free,
Just safe escaped from life's tempestuous sea.