PRAYER,

IN THE

PROSPECT OF DEATH.

THOU unknown, Almighty Caufe
Of all my hope and fear!

In whofe dread Prefence, ere an hour,
Perhaps I must appear!

II.

If I have wander'd in those paths

Of life I ought to shun;

As Something, loudly, in my breast,

Remonftrates. I have done.

III.

Thou know't that Thou haft formed me

With Paffions wild and ftrong;

And lift'ning to their witching voice

Has often led me wrong.

IV.

Where human weakness has come short

Or frailty ftept afide,

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Do thou All-Good! for fuch Thou art,

In fhades of darkness hide.

ン

No other Plea I have,

But, Thou art good; and Goodness till,

Delighteth to forgive.

STANZAS.

ON THE SAME OCCASION.

WHY am Iloth to leave this earthly scene?

Have I found it fo full of pleafing charms? Some drops of joy with drops of ill between ; Some gleams of funfhine 'mid renewing storms: Is it departing pangs my foul 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 juftly fmart beneath his fin-avenging rod.

Fain would I fay, 'Forgive my foul offence!'
Fain promise, never more to difobey;
But, fhould my Author health again dispense,
Again I might defert fair Virtue's way;
Again in folly's path might go aftray;

Again exalt the brute and fink the man ;
Then how fhould I for Heavenly Mercy pray,
Who act fo counter Heavenly Mercy's plan?
Who fin fo 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 tempeft cease to blow,
Or fill the tumult of the raging fea:
With that controuling pow'r aflift ev'n me,
Thofe headlong, furious paffions to confine;
For all unfit I feel my powers be,

To rule their torrent in th' allowed line;
O, aid me with Thy help, Omnipotence Divine,

ewald

Lying at a Reverend Friend's house, one night, The Author left the following Verfes in the room where he lept

I

O THOU dread Pow'r, who reign'ft above,

I know Thou wilt me hear;

When for this fcene of peace and love,
I make my prayer fincere.

The hoary fire-the mortal ftroke,
Long, long be pleas'd to spare ;

To blefs his little filial flock,

And fhew what good men are.

III

She, who her lovely Offspring eyes
With tender hopes and fears,
O blefs her with a Mother's joys,
But fpare a Mother's tears!

IV.

Their hope, their flay, their darling youth,
In manhood's dawning blush;

Blefs him, Thou God of Love and Truth,
Up to a Parent's wish.