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Ride on the clouds; whilst, as his chariot flies,
Commit thou all thy ways
And griefs into his hands,
Who heav'n and earth commands;
Who points the clouds their course,
Whom winds and seas obey :
He shall prepare thy way.
No profit canst thou gain
By self-consuming care :
Attends the softest pray’r.
Give to the winds thy fears,
Hope, and be undismay'd; God hears thy sighs and counts thy tears,
He will lift up thy head.
Thro' waves, and clouds, and storms,
He'll gently clear thy way;
foon end in boundless day.
THE UNIVERSAL PRAYER.
Father of all! in ev'ry age,
In ev'ry clime, ador'd,
Jehovah, Jove, or Lord!
Thou Great First Cause, least understvod,
Who all my sense confin'd
And that myself am blind :
Yet gave me, in this dark estate,
To see the good from ill;
Left free the human will.
What conscience dictates to be done,
Or warns nie not to do,
That more than heav'n pursue.
What blessings thy free bounty gives
Let me not cast anay;
T' enjoy is to obey.
Yet not to earth's contracted span
Thy goodness let me bound, Or think Thee Lord alone of man,
When thousand words are round.
Let not this weak, unknowing hand
Presume thy bolts to throw, And deal damnation round the land
On each I judge thy foe.
If I am right, thy grace impart
Still in the right to stay; If I am wrong, oli teach my heart
To find that better way.
Save me alike from foolish pride,
Or impious discontent,
Or aught the goodness lent.
Teach me to feel another's woe,
To hide the fault I see; That mercy I to others show,
That mercy show to me.
Mean tho’ I am, not wholly so,
Since quicken'd by thy breath, O lead me wheresoe'er I go, Thro' this day's life, or death,
This day, be bread and peace my lot :
All else beneath the sun, Thou know'st if best bestow'd or not;
And let thy will be done.
To Thee, whose temple is all space,
Whose altar, earth, sea, skies!
All Nature's incense rise.
Othou, whom love and fancy lead,
To wander near this woodland hill,
If ever musick soothed thy quill,
Repose beneath my humble tree,
Stranger, if thy lot has laid
In toilsome scenes of busy life,
Full sorely may'st thou see the strife, Of weary passions ill repaid,