The gentlest of THY looks; then deign to cheer My fainting heart, with the consoling hope

Of Mercy; Mercy at THY hands! And THOU, Whom soft-ey'd Pity once led down from Hea

ven,

To bleed for Man,-to teach him how to live,-
And, (oh! still harder lesson!) how to die;
Disdain not then to smooth the restless bed
Of sickness, and of pain; Forgive the tender tear
That Nature drops; calm all her fears;

Fix her firm trust on THY triumphant Cross;-
Wake all her hopes, and animate her faith,
Till my rapt soul, anticipating Heaven,
Bursts from the thraldom of incumb'ring clay,
And, on the wings of ecstasy upborne,
Springs into liberty, and light, and life!"

Finis.

J. BRETTELL, Printer, Marshall-Street, Golden-Square,

London.