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Alternate follies take the sway;
Licentious passions burn;
Which tenfold force gives nature's law, That man was made to mourn.
Look not alone on youthful prime,
But see him on the edge of life,
A few seem favourites of fate,
In pleasure's lap carest;
Yet, think not all the rich and great
Are likewise truly blest.
But, oh! what crowds in ev'ry land
Thro' weary life this lesson learn,
Many and sharp the num'rous ills
More pointed still we make ourselves,
And man, whose heav'n-erected face
The smiles of love adorn,
Man's inhumanity to man
Makes countless thousands mourn!
See yonder poor, o'erlabour'd wight,
Who begs a brother of the earth
To give him leave to toil;
And see his lordly fellow-worm
If I'm design'd yon lordling's slave,
E'er planted in my mind?
If not, why am I subject to
His cruelty or scorn?
Or why has man the will and pow'r
Yet, let not this too much, my son,
The poor, oppressed, honest man,
O death! the poor man's dearest friend,
The great, the wealthy, fear thy blow,
But, oh! a blest relief to those
That weary-laden mourn!
O Thou unknown, Almighty Cause
In whose dread presence, ere an hour,
If I have wander'd in those paths
Of life I ought to shun;
As something, loudly, in my breast,
Thou know'st that thou hast formed me
Where human weakness has come short,
Or frailty stept aside,
Do thou, All-Good! for such thou art,
Where with intention I have err'd,
No other plea I have,
But Thou art good; and goodness still
Delighteth to forgive.
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
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!"
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!
To rule their torrent in th' allowed line;
Lying at a reverend friend's house one night, the author left the following
In the room where he slept.
Othou dread Pow'r, who reign'st above!
I know thou wilt me hear:
When for this scene of peace and love,
The hoary sire-the mortal stroke,
And show what good men are.
She, who her lovely offspring eyes
Their hope, their stay, their darling youth,
Bless him, thou God of love and truth,
The beauteous, seraph sister-band,
With earnest tears I
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,
THE FIRST PSALM.
in life wherever plac'd,
Hath happiness in store,
Who walks not in the wicked's way,
Nor learns their guilty lore: