I loved them all; it soothed me to presage
The various trials of their riper age,
Then dwell on mine, and bless the Power who gave
Pains to correct us, and remorse to save. 
   “Yes! these were days of peace, but they are past, —
A trial came, I will believe, a last;
I lost my sight, and my employment gone,
Useless I live, but to the day live on;
Those eyes which long the light of heaven enjoy’d,
Were not by pain, by agony destroy’d: 
My senses fail not all; I speak, I pray;
By night my rest, my food I take by day;
And, as my mind looks cheerful to my end,
I love mankind, and call my god my friend.”

LETTER XXI.

THE POOR OF THE BOROUGH.

Now the Spirit speaketh expressly, that, in the latter times, some shall depart from the faith, giving heed to seducing spirits and doctrines of devils. 
                                                Epistle to Timothy.

-------------------------

Abel Keene.

Abel, a poor man, Teacher of a School of the lower Order; is placed in the Office of a Merchant; is alarmed by Discourses of the Clerks; unable to reply; becomes a Convert; dresses, drinks, and ridicules his former conduct—­The Remonstrance of his Sister, a devout Maiden--Its Effect—­The Merchant dies—­Abel returns to Poverty unpitied; but relieved—­His abject Condition—­His Melancholy—­He wanders about; is found—­His own Account of himself and the Revolutions in his Mind.

A quiet, simple man was Abel Keene,
He meant no harm, nor did he often mean;
He kept a school of loud rebellious boys,
And growing old, grew nervous with the noise;
When a kind merchant hired his useful pen,
And made him happiest of accompting men;
With glee he rose to every easy day,
When half the labour brought him twice the pay. 
   There were young clerks, and there the merchant’s son,
Choice spirits all, who wish’d him to be one;
It must, no question, give them lively joy,
Hopes long indulged to combat and destroy;
At these they levelled all their skill and strength, —
He fell not quickly, but he fell at length: 
They quoted books, to him both bold and new,
And scorn’d as fables all he held as true;
“Such monkish stories, and such nursery lies,”
That he was struck with terror and surprise. 
   “What! all his life had he the laws obey’d,
Which they broke through and were not once afraid? 
Had he so long his evil passions check’d,
And yet at last had nothing to expect? 
While they their lives in joy and pleasure led,
And then had nothing at the end to dread? 
Was all his priest with so much zeal convey’d
A part! a speech! for which the man was paid! 
And were his pious books, his solemn prayers,
Not worth one tale of the admir’d Voltaire’s? 
Then was it time, while yet some years remain’d,