Wisdom and mercy guide my way,
Shall I resist them both?

A poor blind creature of a day,
And crush'd before the moth!

But ah! my inward spirit cries,
Still bind me to thy sway;
Else the next cloud that veils the skies,
Drives all these thoughts away.

STANZAS

Subjoined to the Yearly Bill of Mortality of the Parish of All-Saints, Northampton,* Anno Domini, 1787.

Pallida Mors æquo pulsat pede pauperum tabernas,
Regumque turres.

Horace.

Pale Death with equal foot strikes wide the door
Of royal halls, and hovels of the poor.

WHILE thirteen moons saw smoothly run
The Nen's barge-laden wave,
All these, life's rambling journey done,
Have found their home, the grave.

Was man (frail always) made more frail
Than in foregoing years?

Did famine or did plague prevail,

That so much death appears?

No; these were vig'rous as their sires,
Nor plague nor famine came :
This annual tribute Death requires,
And never waves his claim.

Like crowded forest-trees we stand,

And some are mark'd to fall;

The axe will smite at God's command,

And soon shall smite us all.

*Composed for John Cox, parish clerk of Northampton.

Green as the bay tree, ever green,
With its new foliage on,

The gay, the thoughtless, have I seen,
I pass'd and they were gone.

Read, ye that run, the awful truth
With which I charge my page;
A worm is in the bud of youth,
And at the root of age.

No present health can health ensure
For yet an hour to come;
No med'cine, though it oît can cure,
Can always baulk the tomb.

And O! that humble as my lot,
And scorn'd as is my strain,

These truths, though known, too much forgot,
I may not teach in vain.

So prays your clerk with all his heart,
And ere he quits the pen,

Begs you for once to take his part,
And answer all-Amen!

COULD I, from Heav'n inspir'd, as sure presage
To whom the rising year shall prove his last,

As I can number in my punctual page,
And item down the victims of the past;

How each would trembling wait the mournful sheet, On which the press might stamp him next to die; And, reading here his sentence, how replete

With anxious meaning, Heav'nward turn his eye! Time then would seem more precious than the joys, In which he sports away the treasure now; And pray'r more seasonable than the noise Of drunkards, or the music-drawing bow. Then doubtless many a trifier, on the brink

Of this world's hazardous and headlong shore, Forc'd to a pause, would feel it good to think, Told that his setting sun must rise no more. Ah self-deceiv'd! Could I prophetic say

Who next is fated, and who next to fall, The rest might then seem privileg'd to play; But, naming none, the Voice now speaks to ALL,

Observe the dappled foresters, how light

They bound and airy o'er the sunny glade
One falls the rest, wide-scatter'd with affright,
Vanish at once into the darkest shade.

Had we their wisdom, should we, often warn'd,
Still need repeated warnings, and at last,
A thousand awful admonitions scorn'd,

Die self-accus'd of life run all to waste?

Sad waste! for which no after-thrift atones.
The grave admits no cure for guilt or sin;
Dew-drops may deck the turf that hides the bones,
But tears of godly grief ne'er flow within.

Learn then, ye living! by the mouths be taught
Of all those sepulchres, instructors true,

That, soon or late, death also is your lot,

And the next op'ning grave may yawn for you.

ON A SIMILAR OCCASION,

For the year 1789.

-Placidaque ibi demum morte quievit.

Virg.

There calm at length he breath'd his soul away.

'O MOST delightful hour by man Experienc'd here below,

The hour that terminates his span,

His folly, and his wo!

• Worlds should not bribe me back to tread

Again life's dreary waste,

To see again my day o'erspread

With all the gloomy past.

'My home henceforth is in the skies, Earth, seas, and sun, adieu !

• All Heav'n unfolded to my eyes,

6

• I have no sight for you."

So spake Aspasio, firm possess'd
Of faith's supporting rod,
Then breath'd his soul into its rest,
The bosom of his God.

He was a man among the few

Sincere on virtue's side;

And all his strength from Scripture drew,

To hourly use applied.

That rule he priz'd, by that he fear'd,
He hated, hop'd, and lov'd;

Nor ever frown'd, or sad appear'd,
But when his heart had rov'd.

For he was frail, as thou or I,
And evil felt within:

But, when he felt it, heav'd a sigh,
And loath'd the thought of sin.

Such liv'd Aspasio; and at last
Call'd up from Earth to Heav'n,
The gulf of death triumphant pass'd,
By gales of blessing driv'n.

His joys be mine, each Reader cries,
When my last hour arrives:

They shall be yours, my Verse replies,
Such only be your lives.

ON A SIMILAR OCCASION,

For the year 1790.

Ne commonentem recta sperne. Buchanan.
Despise not my good counsel.

He who sits from day to day,
Where the prison'd lark is hung,
Heedless of his loudest lay,

Hardly knows that he has sung.
Where the watchman in his round
Nightly lifts his voice on high,
None, accustom'd to the sound,
Wakes the sooner for his cry.

So your verse-man I, and clerk,
Yearly in my song proclaim
Death at hand-yourselves his mark-
And the foe's unerring aim.

Duly at my time I come,

Publishing to all aloud

Soon the grave must be your home,
And your only suit, a shroud.