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STANZAS

ON THE SAME OCCASION.

Why am I loth to leave this earthly scene?

Have I so found it full of pleasing charms ? Some drops of joy with draughts of ill between :

Some gleams of sunshine 'mid renewing storms. Is it departing pangs my soul alarms ?

Or death's unlovely, dreary, dark abode ?
For guilt, for guilt, my terrors are in arms;

I tremble to approach an angry God,
And justly smart beneath his sin-avenging rod.

Fain would I say, ' Forgive my foul offence;'

Fain promise never more to disobey :
But, should my Author health again dispense,

Again I might desert fair virtue's way;
Again in folly's path might go astray;

Again exalt the brute and sink the man : Then how should I for heavenly mercy pray,

Who act so counter heavenly mercy's plan? Who sin so oft have mourn’d, yet to temptation ran?

O Thou, great Governor of all below!

If I may dare a lifted eye to Thee,
Thy nod can make the tempest cease to blow,

Or still the tumult of the raging sea :
With that controlling power assist e'en me

Those headlong, furious passions to confine ; For all unfit I feel my powers to be

To rule their torrent in the allowed line : 0, aid me with thy help, Omnipotence Divine !

Lying at a Reverend Friend's House one Night,

the Author left the following Verses in the Room where he slept.

O thou dread Power, who reign'st above!

I know thou wilt me hear,
When for this scene of peace and love

I make my prayer sincere.
The hoary sire—the mortal stroke

Long, long be pleased to spare,
To bless his little filial flock,

And show what good men are. She, who her lovely offspring eyes

With tender hopes and fears0, bless her with a mother's joys,

But spare a mother's tears !
Their hope, their stay, their darling youth,

In manhood's dawning blush ;
Bless him, thou God of love and truth,

Up to a parent's wish!
The beauteous, seraph sister-band,

With earnest tears, I pray,
(Thou know'st the snares on every hand)

Guide thou their steps alway!
When soon or late they reach that coast,

O'er life's rough ocean driven,
May they rejoice, no wanderer lost,

A fa: in heaven!

A PRAYER,

UNDER THE PRESSURE OF VIOLENT ANGUISH.

O thou Great Being! what thou art

Surpasses me to know:
Yet sure I am, that known to thee

Are all thy works below.

Thy creature here before thee stands,

All wretched and distrest;
Yet sure those ills that wring my soul

Obey thy high behest.

Sure thou, Almighty, canst not act

From cruelty or wrath!
0, free my weary eyes from tears,

Or close them fast in death!

But if I must afflicted be,

To suit some wise design,
Then man my soul with firm resolves

To bear, and not repine!

D

THE FIRST SIX VERSES OF THE

NINETIETH PSALM.

O THOU, the first, the greatest Friend

Of all the human race,
Whose strong right hand has ever been

Their stay and dwelling place!
Before the mountains heaved their heads

Beneath thy forming hand,
Before this ponderous globe itself

Arose at thy command ;
That Power which raised and still upholds

This universal frame,
From countless, unbeginning time,

Was ever still the same.
Those mighty periods of years

Which seem to us so vast, Appear no more before thy sight

Than yesterday that 's past.
Thou givest the word : Thy creature, man,

Is to existence brought :
Again thou sayst, 'Ye sons of men,

Return ye into nought!
Thou layest them, with all their cares,

In everlasting sleep ;
As with a flood, thou takest them off

With overwhelming sweep.
They flourish like the morning flower,

In beauty's pride array'd;
But long ere night cut down, it lies

All wither'd and decay'd.

THE FIRST PSALM.

The man, in life wherever placed,

Hath happiness in store, Who walks not in the wicked's way,

Nor learns their guilty lore:

Nor from the seat of scornful pride

Casts forth his eyes abroad, But with humility and awe

Still walks before his God,

That man shall flourish like the trees,

Which by the streamlets grow; The fruitful top is spread on high,

And firm the root below.

But he whose blossom buds in guilt

Shall to the ground be cast, And, like the rootless stubble, toss'd

Before the sweeping blast.

For why? that God the good adore

Hath given them peace and rest, But hath decreed that wicked men

Shall ne'er be truly blest.

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