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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 ?
I tremble to approach an angry God,
Fain would I say, “ Forgive my foul offence in
Fain promise never more to disobey :
Again I might desert fair virtue's way:
Again exalt the brute, and sink the man; Then how should I for heav'nly mercy pray,
Who act so counter heav'nly 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,
With that controlling pow'r assist ev'n me,
Those headlong, furious passions to confine;
To rule their torrent in th’ allowed line;
IN THE ROOM WHERE HE SLEPT.
O thou, dread Pow'r, who reign'st above;
I know thou wilt me hear,
I make my pray'r sincere.
The hoary sire, the mortal stroke,
Long, long, be pleas'd to spare !
And show what good men are.
She, who her lovely offspring eyes
With tender hopes and fears,
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 ev'ry hand,
Guide Thou their steps alway!
When soon or late they reach that coast,
O'er life's rough ocean driv'n, May they rejoice, no wand'rer lost,
A family in heav'n!
A GRACE BEFORE DINNER.
O Thou, who kindly dost provide
For ev'ry creature's want !
For all thy goodness lent:
And if it please thee, heav'nly Guide,
May never worse be sent;
THE FIRST PSALM.
The man in life, wherever plac'd,
Hath happiness in store,
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,
Before the sweeping blast.
For why? That God, the good adore,
Hath giv'n them peace and rest, But bath decreed that wicked men
Shall ne'er be truly blest.
THE FIRST SIX VERSES OF THE NINETIETH
Of all the human race !
Their stay and dwelling place!
Before the mountains heav'd their heads
Beneath thy forming hand,
Arose at thy command ;
That Pow'r which rais'd, and still upholds,
This universal frame,
Was ever still the same.
Those mighty periods of years
Which seem to us so vast,
Than yesterday that's past.
Thou giv'st the word — thy creature, man,
Is to existence brought;
Return ye into nought !
Thou layest them, with all their cares,
In everlasting sleep ;
With overwhelming sweep.