TO Dr. SHERLOCK, ON HIS PRACTICAL DISCOURSE Concerning Death.

TO Dr. SHERLOCK, ON HIS PRACTICAL DISCOURSE Concerning Death.

Forgive the Muse, who in unhallow'd Strains The Saint one Moment from his GOD detains: For sure, whate'er You do, where-e'er You are, 'Tis all but one good Work, one constant Pray'r: Forgive Her; and intreat That GOD, to Whom Thy favour'd Vows with kind Acceptance come, To raise her Notes to that sublime Degree, Which suits a Song of Piety and Thee.

Wond'rous good Man! whose Labours may repel The Force of Sin, may stop the Rage of Hell: Thou, like the Baptist, from thy GOD wast sent The crying Voice, to bid the World repent.

Thee Youth shall study; and no more engage Their flatt'ring Wishes for uncertain Age; No more with fruitless Care, and cheated Strife Chace fleeting Pleasure thro' this Maze of Life; Finding the wretched All They here can have, But present Food, and but a future Grave: Each, great as Philip's Victor Son, shall view This abject World, and weeping, ask a New.

Decrepit Age shall read Thee, and confess, Thy Labours can asswage, where Med'cines cease: Shall bless thy Words, their wounded Souls Relief, The Drops that sweeten their last Dregs of Life: Shall look to Heav'n, and laugh at all beneath; Own Riches gather'd, Trouble; Fame, a Breath; And Life an Ill, whose only Cure is Death.

Thy even Thoughts with so much Plainness flow; Their Sense untutor'd Infancy may know: Yet to such height is all That Plainness wrought; Wit may admire, and letter'd Pride be taught: Easie in Words thy Style, in Sense sublime: On it's blest Steps each Age and Sex may rise: 'Tis like the Ladder in the Patriarch's Dream, It's Foot on Earth, it's Height above the Skies. Diffus'd it's Virtue, boundless is it's Pow'r: 'Tis Publick Health, and Universal Cure: Of Heav'nly Manna, 'tis a second Feast, A Nation's Food, and all to ev'ry Taste.

To it's last Height mad Britain's Guilt was rear'd: And various Death for various Crimes She fear'd: With your kind Work her drooping Hopes revive: You bid Her read, repent, adore, and live: You wrest the Bolt from Heav'ns avenging Hand; Stop ready Death, and save a sinking Land.

O! save Us still; still bless Us with thy Stay: O! want thy Heav'n, 'till We have learnt the Way: Refuse to leave thy destin'd Charge too soon: And for the Church's Good, defer thy own. O! live; and let thy Works urge our Belief; Live to explain thy Doctrine by thy Life; 'Till future Infancy, baptiz'd by Thee, Grow ripe in Years, and old in Piety; 'Till Christians, yet unborn, be taught to die.

Then in full Age, and hoary Holiness Retire, great Teacher, to thy promis'd Bliss: Untouch'd thy Tomb, uninjur'd be thy Dust, As thy own Fame among the future Just; 'Till in last Sounds the dreadful Trumpet speaks: 'Till Judgment calls; and quick'ned Nature wakes: 'Till thro' the utmost Earth, and deepest Sea Our scatter'd Atoms find their destin'd Way, In haste to cloath their Kindred Souls again; Perfect our State, and build immortal Man: Then fearless Thou, who well sustain'dst the Fight, To Paths of Joy, and Tracts of endless Light Lead up all those who heard Thee, and believ'd: 'Midst thy own Flock, great Shepherd, be receiv'd; And glad all Heav'n with Millions Thou hast sav'd.