Jesus! where’er Thy people meet, There they behold Thy mercy seat; Where’er they seek Thee, Thou art… And every place is hallow’d ground… For Thou, within no walls confine…

I place an offering at thy shrine, From taint and blemish clear, Simple and pure in its design, Of all that I hold dear. I yield thee back thy gifts again,

Believe it or not, as you choose, The doctrine is certainly true, That the future is known to the M… And poets are oracles too. I did but express a desire,

These verses also to thy praise th… Oh Manso! happy in that theme des… For, Gallus and Maecenas gone, th… None such besides, or whom they lo… And, if my verse may give the meed…

Reader! behold a monument That asks no sigh or tear, Though it perpetuate the event Of a great burial here.

Naples, too credulous, ah! boast n… The sweet-voiced Siren buried on… That, when Parthenope deceas’d, s… Her sacred dust to a Chalcidic gr… For still she lives, but has excha…

The Spirit breathes upon the word… And brings the truth to sight; Precepts and promises afford A sanctifying light. A glory gilds the sacred page,

Oh that those lips had language!… With me but roughly since I heard… Those lips are thine– thy own swee… The same that oft in childhood sol… Voice only fails, else, how distin…

What portents, from what distant r… Unseen till now in ours, the aston… In ages past, old Proteus, with h… Of sea-calves, sought the mountain… But now, descending whence of late…

(Proverbs, VIII. 22-31) “Ere God had built the mountains, Or raised the fruitful hills; Before he fill’d the fountains That feed the running rills;

Me to whatever state the gods assi… Believe, my love, whatever state b… Ne’er shall my breast one anxious… Ne’er shall my heart confess a rea… If to thy share heaven’s choicest…

Nor oils of balmy scene produce, Nor mirror for Minerva’s use, Ye nymphs who lave her; she, array… In genuine beauty, scorns their ai… Not even when they left the skies,

Rebellion is my theme all day, I only wish 'twould come (As who knows but perhaps it may) A little nearer home. Yon roaring boys who rave and figh…

O thou, by long experience tried, Near whom no grief can long abide; My love! how full of sweet content I pass my years of banishment! All scenes alike engaging prove

I sing the Sofa. I who lately san… Truth, Hope, and Charity, and tou… The solemn chords, and with a trem… Escaped with pain from that advent… Now seek repose upon an humbler th…