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Then up to my Saviour I look,
I fly to the refuge divine;
I mark in his truth-written book,
Each sweetly encouraging line.

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When pains o'er my body prevail,
When sadness oppresses my mind;
When my plans and my prospects all fail;
When friends are resery'd and unkind :
I fly to my refuge and trust,
I double my ardour in prayer,
I prostrate my soul in the dust,
And meekly my punishment bear.

'Tis heaven, 'tis glory below,
To suffer and bend to the stroke;
Sweet peace

like a river shall flow,
When the will is brought under the yoke.
Then patience smiles sweetly in tears,
Meek-ey'd resignation looks gay;
Submission most lovely appears,
That pearl in a turbulent sea.

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THE BEST BEVERAGE, OR LINES ON

WATER DRINKING. *

And she saw a well of water, and she went and filled the bottle with water, and gave the lad to drink....Gen. xxi. 19.

WATER hurtful, can it be?
Water never injur'd me:
I with pure delight have quaff'd
Many a crystal cooling draught;
Both from fountain, rill, and tank,
And the gliding river's bank;
Deeming it delicious cheer;
Far surpassing wine or beer:
But in this Atlantic Isle,
Where the bright-ey'd seasons smile,
I am often told, alas !
There is poison in the glass;

* The author was told on his first arrival at Bermuda, “Water will hurt you, do not drink it.”

Poison 'tis by all reputed,

'Till with Indian rum diluted.

Hasten, lovely muse, and bring
Water from the lucid spring;
Where the wine of heaven pours,
Purest, sweetest, richest stores:
This exalted Adam's joys

In the bowers of Paradise;
This regales the hermit's taste,
This improves the shepherd's feast;
Cheers the parched traveller;

Slakes the thirst, and cools the air.
Water's reason's beverage,

Noblest spring of health and age;
Healthier far than richest wines;

From the purple cluster'd vines :
Not the produce of the cane,

Brandy brought from France or Spain,

Nor Geneva's Juniper,

With thy simple streams compare.

Who to thee, alas, prefer

Ardent spirits, madly err;
Tho' the liquors sparkle fine,
And the purple bumpers shine:

:

Death is in the cup, beware,
Evil demons wanton there:
Hence the birth of many an ill,
Liquor-loving mortals feel :
Poverty and foul disgrace,
Trembling hand and bloated face;
Fatal fevers, scarlet eyes,
Hydrops of enormous size;
Palpitations, pimpled nose,
Fearful dreams, and gouty toes :
Nor is less destruction wrought
Amongst the finer springs of thought :
Memory thro' all its cells,
Muddy and forgetful feels,
Every tender moral sense,
Dreads the baneful influence :
Noblest motives quickly die,
Brightest aims neglected lie;
Scarce can ruin'd fancy trace
One bright image in her glass.
All in ruius lies the soul,
Shatter'd by the fatal bowl.
Who the simple streams despise,
Nature's hand alone supplies;

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May, O solemn thought! e'er long,
Want a drop to cool his tongue.

Piety delights to bring,
Water from the limpid spring;
Nature's noblest beverage,

Spring of health and pledge of age:
Ever grateful to the taste,

Welcome to the Christian's feast.
But immoral draughts inspire

Giddy thoughts and loose desire :

Wanton songs, and jests obscene,
Frantic mirth or fatal spleen ::
Reason hides her blushing face,
Modesty deserts the place;
Piety with loathing soul,
Execrates the impious bowl;
Rosy-looking temperance sings
Of placid passions, healthy springs:
Flies the brutal crew to dwell,
By her streams and limpid well :-
Warbling in her wild notes clear,
Of many a sage and many a seer:
How the patriarchal race,
On the flowery turf or grass,

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