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Or he who feeds ambition's flame,

Loves he his neighbor like his fame?
Such lazy or such soaring elves
Can't love their neighbor as themselves.

6. He whose gross appetites enslave him,

Who spends or feasts the wealth God gave him,
Full, pampered, gorged at every meal,
He cannot for the empty feel.

How can such gormandizing elves
E'er love their neighbor as themselves?

7. Then, since the man who lusts for gold,
Since he who is to pleasure sold;
Who soars in pride, or sinks in ease,
His neighbor will not serve or please;

Where shall we hope the man to find
To fill this great command inclined?

8. I dare not blame God's holy word,
Nor censure Scripture as absurd;
But sure the rule's of no avail

If placed so high that all must fail;
And 'tis impossible to prove
That any can his neighbor love.

THE ANSWER.

9. Yes, such there are, of heavenly mould, Unwarped by pleasure, ease, or gold; He who fulfils the nobler part,

By loving God with all his heart;

He, only he, the Scriptures prove,
Can as himself his neighbor love.

10. Then join, to make a perfect plan,
The love of God to love of man;
Your heart in union both must bring;
This is the stream, and that the spring;

This done, no more in vain you'll labor;
A Christian can't but love his neighbor.

11. If then the rule's too hard to please ye,
Turn Christian, and you'll find it easy.
"Still 'tis impossible," you cry;

"In vain shall feeble nature try."

'Tis true; but know a Christian is a creature
Who does things quite impossible to nature.

THE BAD BARGAIN;

OH,

THE WORLD SET UP TO SALE.

The devil, as the Scriptures show,
Tempts sinful mortals, high and low;
And, acting well his various part,
Suits every bribe to every heart.
See there the prince of darkness stands,
With baits for souls in both his hands.

To one he offers empires whole,
And gives a sceptre for a soul;
To one he freely gives in barter
A peerage, or a star and garter;
To one he pays polite attention,
And begs him just to take a pension.

Some are so fired with love of fame,

He bribes them by an empty name;

For fame they toil, they preach, they write,

Give alms, build hospitals, or fight;

For human praise renounce salvation,

And sell their souls for reputation.

But the great gift, the mighty bribe,
Which Satan pours amid the tribe,
Which millions seize with eager haste,
And all desire at least to taste,
Is—plodding reader!—what, d'ye think 1
Alas!—'tis money—money—chink!

Round the wide world the tempter flies,
Presents to view the glittering prize;
See how he hastes from shore to shore,
And how the nations all adore;
Souls flock by thousands to be sold,
Smit with the fond desire of gold.

See, at yon needy tradesman's shop,

The universal tempter stop;

"Wouldst thou," he cries, "increase thy treasures,

Use lighter weights and scantier measures;

Thus thou shalt thrive;" the trader's willing,

And sells his soul to get a shilling.

Next Satan to a farmer hies.
"I scorn to cheat," the farmer cries:
Yet still his heart on wealth is bent,
And so the devil is content;
Now markets rise, and riches roll,
And Satan quite secures his soul.

Mark next yon cheerful youth so jolly,
So fond of laughter and of folly;
He hates a stingy, griping fellow,
But gets each day a little mellow:
To Satan too he sells his soul
In barter for a flowing bowl.

But mark again yon lass a spinning;
See how the tempter is beginning;
Some beau presents a top-knot nice;
She grants her virtue as the price:
A slave to vanity's control,
She for a riband sells her soul!

Thus Satan tries each different state:
With mighty bribes he tempts the great;
The poor with equal force he plies,
But wins them with an humbler prize;
Has gentler arts for young beginners,
And fouler sins for older sinners.

Oft, too, he cheats our mortal eyes,
For Satan father is of lies;
A thousand swindling tricks he plays us,
And promises, but never pays us:
Thus we poor fools are strangely caught,
And find we've sold our souls for nought.

Nay, oft, with quite a juggler's art,
He bids the proffered gift depart;
Sets some gay joy before our face,
Then claps a trouble in its place;
Turns up some loss for promised gain,
And conjures pleasure into pain.

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Be wise then, O ye worldly tribe,
Nor sell your conscience for a bribe;
When Satan tempts you to begin,
Resist him, and refuse to sin:
Bad is the bargain on the whole,
To gain the world and lose the soul!

HERE AND THERE;

THIS WORLD AND THE NEXT.

BEING SUITABLE THOUGHTS FOR A NEW TEAR.

Here bliss is short, imperfect, insincere,

But total, absolute, and perfect there.

Here time's a moment, short our happiest state;

There infinite duration is our date.

Here Satan tempts, and troubles e'en the best;

There Satan's power extends not to the blest.

In a weak, sinful body here I dwell;

But there I drop this frail and sickly shell.

Here my best thoughts are stained with guilt and fear,

But love and pardon shall be perfect there.

Here my best duties are defiled with sin;

There all is ease without, and peace within.

Here feeble faith supplies my only light,

There faith and hope are swallowed up in sight.

Here love of self my fairest works destroys,

There love of God shall perfect all my joys.

Here things, as in a glass, are darkly shown;

There I shall know as clearly as I'm known.

Frail are the fairest flowers which bloom below,

There freshest palms on roots immortal grow.

Here wants or cares perplex my anxious mind,

But spirits there a calm fruition find.

Here disappointments my best schemes destroy,

There those that sowed in tears shall reap in joy.

Here vanity is stamped on all below,

Perfection there on every good shall grow.

Here my fond heart is fastened on some friend,

Whose kindness may, whose life must, have an end;

But there no failure can I ever prove;

God cannot disappoint, for God is love.

Here Christ for sinners suffered, groaned, and bled;

But there he reigns the great triumphant head:

Here, mocked and scourged, he wore a crown of thorns;

A crown of glory there his brow adorns.

Here error clouds the will, and dims the sight;

There all is knowledge, purity and light.

Here, so imperfect is this mortal state,

If blest myself, I mourn some other's fate.

At every human wo I here repine;

The joy of every saint shall there be mine.

Here, if I lean, the world shall pierce my heart,

But there that broken reed and I shall part.

Here on no promised good can I depend,

But there the Rock of ages is my friend.

Here, if some sudden joy delight inspire,

The dread to lose it damps the rising fire;

But there, whatever good the soul employ,

The thought that 'tis eternal, crowns the joy.

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