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ceaſe to be legible. But as many as are inrolled "in the Lamb's book of life," he himſelf declares, ſhall never be blotted out from thoſe annals of eternity. When a flight of years has mouldered the triumphal column into duſt; when the brazen ſtatue periſhes, under the corroding hand of time; thoſe honours ſtill continue; ſtill are blooming and incorruptible, in the world of glory.
Could we draw back the covering of the tomb; could we diſcern what thoſe are now, who once were mortals?———oh! how would it ſurpriſe and grieve us! Surpriſe us, to behold the prodigious transformation which has taken place on every individual; grieve us, to obſerve the diſhonour done to our nature in general, within theſe ſubterrancous lodgments!
Here the ſweet and winning aſpect, that wore perpetually an attractive ſmile, grins horribly a naked, ghaſtly ſcull.—The eye, that outſhined the diamond's brilliancy, and glanced its lovely lightning into the moſt guarded heart, alas! where is it? Where ſhall we find the rolling ſparkler!—How are all its ſprightly beams eclipſed, totally eclipſed!—The tongue, that once commanded all the ſweetneſs of harmony, and all the powers of eloquence, in this ſtrange land has "forgot its cunning." Where are now cloſe ſtrains of melody, which raviſhed our ears? Where is that flow of perſuaſion, which
