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This still has been my sweetest song,
My Love is crucify'd.

And whilst upon this world I stay,
Whate'er may me betide,

To all around I'll ever say,
My Love is crucify'd.

When through death's gloomy vale I walk,
My Lord shall be my guide;

To him I'll sing, of him I'll talk.
My Love is crucify'd.

Could I, his praise e'en now I'd sound,

As vast creation wide;

But I shall sing on heav'nly ground,
My Love is crucify'd.

Yes, when to that blest land I mount,
On places high to ride,

Through all eternity I'll shout,

MY LOVE IS CRUCIFY'D !

Jan. 19, 1795.

S. P."

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"THE GARDENER AND ROSE-TREE."

"A FABLE."

"Affectionately addressed to Mrs. J. H, on the death of her child, by her truly sympathizing friend,

MARCH 12, 1798.

"IN a sweet spot, which Wisdom chose, Grew an unique and lovely Rose;

A flow'r so fair was seldom. borne

A Rose almost without a thorn.
Each passing stranger stopp'd to view
A plant possessing charms so new :

S. P."

"Sweet flow'r !" each lip was heard to say-
Nor less the Owner pleas'd than they :
Rear'd by his hand with constant care,
And planted in his choice parterre,

Of all his garden this the pride,
No flow'r so much admir'd beside.
Nor did the Rose unconscious bloom,
Nor feel ungrateful for the boon;
Oft as her guardian came that way,
Whether at dawn, or eve of day,
Expanded wide-her form unvail'd,
She double fragrance then exhal'd.

As months roll'd on, the spring appear'd,
Its genial rays the Rose matur'd;
Forth from its root a shoot extends-
The parent Rose-tree downward bends,
And, with a joy unknown before,
Contemplates the yet embryo flow'r.

Offspring most dear (she fondly said,)
'Part of myself! beneath my shade,
'Safe shalt thou rise, whilst happy I,
'Transported with maternal joy,
'Shall see thy little buds appear,
Unfold and bloom in beauty here.
'What though the Lilly, or Jonquil,
'Or Hyacinth no longer fill

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The space around me—,

-All shall be

'Abundantly made up in thee.

What though my present charms decay,

And passing strangers no more say

'Of me, Sweet flow' '-Yet thou shalt raise

Thy blooming head, and gain the praise,

'And this reverberated pleasure

Shall be to me a world of treasure.

'Cheerful I part with former merit,

That it my darling may inherit.

Haste then the hours which bid thee bloom,
And fill the zephyrs with perfume !'

Thus had the Rose-tree scarcely spoken,
Ere the sweet cup of bliss was broken-
The Gard'ner came, and with one stroke
He from the root the offspring took
Took from the soil wherein it grew,
And hid it from the parent's view.

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Judge ye, who know a mother's cares
For the dear tender babe she bears,
The parent's anguish-ye alone
Such sad vicissitudes bave known.

Deep was the wound; nor slight the pain
Which made the Rose-tree thus complain:
Dear little darling! art thou gone

Thy charms scarce to thy mother known! Remov'd so soon !-So suddenly, 'Snatch'd from my fond maternal eye!

What hadst thou done ?—dear offspring! say,
So early to be snatch'd away !

What! gone for ever! seen no more!
For ever I thy loss deplore,

Ye dews descend, with tears supply
My now forever tearful eye ;

• Or rather come some northern blast,
Dislodge my yielding roots in haste.
Whirlwinds arise-my branches tear,
And to some distant region bear

Far from this spot, a wretched mother,
Whose fruit and joys are gone together.'
As thus the anguish'd Rose-tree cry'd,
Her Owner near her she espy'd ;
Who in these gentle terms reprov'd
A plant, though murm'ring, stili belov'd.

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Cease, beauteous flow'r, these useless cries And let my lessons make thee wise,

• Art thou not mine? Did not my hand
Transplant thee from the barren sand,
• Where once a mean unsightly plant,
Expos'd to injury and want,

Unknown, and unadmir'd, I found,
And brought thee to this fertile ground;
With studious art improv'd thy form,
Secur'd thee from the inclement storm,
And through the seasons of the year,
Made thee my unabating care?
Hast thou not blest thy happy lot,
In such an owner--such a spot ?

寓 But now, because thy shoot I've taken,

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Thy best of friends must be forsaken.

Know, flower belov'd e'en this affliction

Shall prove to thee a benediction:

Had I nor the young plant remov❜d, · (So fondly by thy heart belov'd)

O me thy heart would scarce have thought,
Wh gratitude no more be fraught:
-Yea―thy own beanty be at stake
Surrender'd for thy offspring's sake.
Nor think, that hidden from thine eyes,
The infant plan neglected lies-
• No-I've another garden where
In richer soil and purer air

It's now transplanted there to shine
In beauties fairer far than thine.

• Nor shalt thou always be apart
From the dear darling of thy heart;
For 'tis my purpose thee to bear
• In future time, and plant thee there,
Where thy now absent off-set grows,
And blossoms a CELESTIAL Rose.

Be patient, then, till that set hour shall come When thou and thine shall in new beauties bloom: No more its absence shall thou then deplore, Together grow and ne'er be parted more.'

These words to silence hush'd the plaintive Rose, With deeper blushes redd'ning now she glows, Submissive bow'd her unrepining head,

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Again her wonted, grateful fragrance shedCry'd, Thou hast taken only what's thine own, Therefore thy will, my Lord, not mine, be done.'

K

CHAP. IV.

AN ACCOUNT OF HIS LAST AFFLICTION, AND

THE HOLY AND HAPPY EXERCISES

OF HIS MIND UNDER IT.

EARLY in October, 1798, Mr. Pearce attended at the Kettering ministers' meeting, and preached from Psalm xc. 16, 17. Let thy work appear unto thy servants, and thy glory unto their children. And let the beauty of the Lord our God be upon us and establish thou the work of our hands upon us: yea, the work of our hands e. tablish thou it. He was observed to be singularly solemn and affectionate in that discourse. If he had known it to be the last time that he should address his brethren in that part of the country, he could scarcely have felt of spoken in a more interesting manner. It was a discourse full of instruc on, full of a holy unction, and that seemed to breathe an apostolical ardour. On his return, he preached a Market Harborough; and riding home the next day in company with his friend, Mr. Summers, of London, they were overtaken with rain. Mr. Pearce was wet through his clothes, and towards evening complained of a chillness. A slight hoarseness followed. He preached several times after this, which brought on an inflammation, and issued in a consumption. It is probable that if his constitution had not been previously impaired, such effects might not have followed in this instance. His own ideas on this subject, are expressed in a letter to Dr. Ryland, dated December 4, 1798, and in another to Mr. King, dated from Bristol, on his way to Plymouth, March 30, 1799. the former, he says," Ever since my Christmas

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