When this world’s charms can please no more;
When life’s last pulse throbs in the heart,
And Death has aim’d his fatal dart—
’Tis then, in heav’nly robes array’d,
Thou art the dying Christian’s aid;
He views, through thy celestial eye,
The dawn of immortality.
ON SEEING A MISER AT A CONCERT.
Music hath charms to soothe a savage breast,
To calm the tyrant and relieve th’ opprest: