A Spartan 'scaping from the fight… His mother met him in his flight, Upheld a falchion to his breast, And thus the fugitive address’d: ‘Thou canst but live to blot with…

To be remembered thus is fame, And in the first degree; And did the few like her the same, The press might sleep for me. So Homer, in the memory stored

(Zecheriah, XIII.1) There is a fountain fill’d with bl… Drawn from Emmanuel’s veins; And sinners, plunged beneath that… Lose all their guilty stains.

To tell the Saviour all my wants, How pleasing is the task! Nor less to praise Him when He gr… Beyond what I can ask. My laboring spirit vainly seeks

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…

God gives his mercies to be spent; Your hoard will do your soul no go… Gold is a blessing only lent, Repaid by giving others food. The world’s esteem is but a bribe,

The Saviour, what a noble flame Was kindled in his breast, When hasting to Jerusalem, He march’d before the rest. Good will to men, and zeal for Go…

I am just two and two, I am warm,… And the parent of numbers that can… I am lawful, unlawful—a duty, a fa… I am often sold dear, good for not… An extraordinary boon, and a matte…

Grace, triumphant in the throne, Scorns a rival, reigns alone; Come and bow beneath her sway; Cast your idol works away! Works of man, when made his plea,

Tears flow, and cease not, where t… Till all who know him follow to th… Tears therefore fall where Cheste… Him wife, friends, brothers, child… And justly—few shall ever him tran…

I thirst, but not as once I did, The vain delights of earth to shar… Thy wounds, Emmanuel, all forbid That I should seek my pleasures t… It was the sight of Thy dear cros…

Strophe I My two-fold Book! single in show But double in Contents, Neat, but not curiously adorn’d Which in his early youth,

How many between east and west, Disgrace their parent earth, Whose deeds constrain us to detest The day that gave them birth! Not so when Stella’s natal morn

On the Burning of Lord Mansfield… So then - the Vandals of our isle… Sworn foes to sense and law, Have burnt to dust a nobler pile Than ever Roman saw!

Though nature weigh our talents, a… To every man his modicum of sense, And Conversation in its better pa… May be esteem’d a gift, and not an… Yet much depends, as in the tiller…