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These samples—for alas ! at last
Of evils yet unmention de
To be at least expedient,
A principal ingredient.
Though some have turn'd and turn’d it;
Have not, it seems discern'd it.
To mortify and grieve me,
Or may my friend deceive me !
THE ENCHANTMENT DISSOLVED.
A flattering prospect shows;
(As ancient fables say)
Castles, and groves, and music sweet,
And stop him in his way.
'Twas but enchanted ground:
A wilderness is found.
In such a wretched place;
And bids us seek his face.
By this beloved Friend ;
And glory at the end.
LIGHT SHINING OUT OF DARKNESS.
His wonders to perform;
And rides upon the storm.
Of never-failing skill,
And works his sov'reign will.
The clouds ye so much dread
In blessings on your head.
Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,
But trust him for his grace; Behind a frowning Providence
He hides a smiling face.
Unfolding ev'ry hour;
But sweet will be the flow'r.
And scan his work in vain : God is his own interpreter,
And he will make it plain.
THE billows swell, the winds are high,
Peace, be still.”
* John xiii. 7.
Though tempest-toss'd and half a wreck,
SUBMISSION. O LORD, my best desire fulfil,
And help me to resign Life, health, and comfort, to thy will,
And make thy pleasure mine. Why should I shrink at thy command,
Whose love forbids my fears ? Or tremble at the gracious hand
That wipes away my tears ? No let me rather freely yield
What most I prize to Thee;
Or wilt withhold from me.
Thou art engag'd to grant;
'Tis better still to want. 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 vails my 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,
WHILE thirteen moons saw smoothly run
The Nen's barge-laden wave,
Have found their home, the grave.
Than in foregoing years?
That so much death appears ?
Nor plague nor famine came :
And never waves his claim.
And some are mark'd to fall;
And soon shall smite us all.
With it's new foliage on,
I pass'd-and they were gone.
With which I charge my page;
And at the root of age.