THE HOMILY, OR VERSES ON PREACHING.
How oft when Paul has serv'd us with a text,
Has Epictetus, Plato, Tully preach'd!
Men, that if now alive, would sit content,
And humble learners of a Saviour's worth;
Preach it who might, such was their love of truth,
Their thirst of knowledge, and their candour too!
COWPER.
JT should be brief, if lengthy it will steep
Our hearts in apathy, our eyes in sleep:
The dull will yawn, the chapel lounger dose,
Attention flag, and memory's portals close.
It should be warm, a living altar coal,
To melt the icy heart and charm the soul:
A sapless, dull harangue, however read,
Will never rouse the soul, or raise the dead.
It should be simple, practical, and clear,
No fine-spun theory to please the ear;
No curious lay, to tickle letter'd pride,
And leave the poor and plain unedified.
It should be tender and affectionate,
As his warm theme who wept lost Salem's fate:
The fiery law with words of love allay'd,
Will sweetly warn, and awfully persuade.
It should be manly, just, and rational ;
Wisely conceiv'd, and well express'd withal:
Not stuffd with silly notions, apt to stain
A sacred desk, and show a muddy brain.
It should possess a well-adapted grace,
To situation, audience, time, and place;
A sermon form'd for scholars, statesmen, lords,
With peasants and mechanics ill accords.
It should with evangelic beauties bloom,
Like Paul's at Corinth, Athens, or at Rome :
Let some Epictetus or Sterne esteem,
A bleeding Jesus is the Gospel theme !
It should be mix'd with many an ardent prayer,
To reach the heart, and fix and fasten there:
When God and man are mutually addrest,
God grants a blessing, man is truly blest.
It should be closely well applied at last,
To make the moral nail securely fast :
Thou art the man, and thou alone wilt make
A Felix tremble, and a David quake!
Page 39.
Paul & Thomas, print.
RELIGION SUPPORTING THE GOOD MAN IN HIS FINAL HOUR, AND OPENING
THE PROSPECT OF GLORY THROUGH THE CROSS OF CHRIST.
THE BEST WINE AT THE LAST, OR DEATH
BED OF THE RIGHTEOUS.
The death of the just! is yet undrawn
By mortal hand: it merits a divine:
Is it his death-bed? No, it is his shrine!
Behold him there, just rising to a God....YOUNG.
INSTRUCT me, genius of the solemn hour,
How mortals leave life's insulated shore:
For thou hast seen the flitting soul elope,
Elate with triumph, or bereft of hope.
When waiting on the brink of worlds of bliss,
Say, what rich blessings crown the good in this?
Say, what bright visions swim before his eyes?
While in the vestibule of Paradise.
He waits the coming hour with steadfast faith,
And as a friend salutes the nuncio death;
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