A

PRAYER,

IN THE

PROSPECT OF DEATH.

I.

O THOU, unknown, Almighty Cause

Of all my hope and fear!

In whose dread presence, 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,

Remonstrates I have done;

III.

Thou know'st that Thou hast formed me With passions wild and strong;

And list'ning to their witching voice

Has often led me wrong.

IV.

Where human weakness has come short, Or frailty stept aside,

Do Thou, All-Good! for such Thou art,

In shades of darkness hide.

V.

Where with intention I have err'd,

No other plea I have,

But, Thou art good; and goodness still Delighteth to forgive.

N 4

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 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,

Thy nod can make the tempest cease to blow,
Or still the tumult of the raging sea:
With that controuling pow'r assist even me,
Those headlong, furious passions to confine
For all unfit I feel my powers to be,

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

VERSES

ON

A FRIEND AND HIS FAMILY *.

I.

O THOU dread Pow'r, who reign'st above!

I know Thou wilt me hear :

When for this scene of peace and love,

I make my pray'r sincere.

II.

The hoary sire-the mortal stroke,
Long, long, be pleas'd to spare;

To bless his little filial flock,

And show what good men are.

* Visiting at a Reverend Friend's house, the Author

left the above Verses in the room where he slept.