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That pow'r which rais'd and still upholds
This universal frame,
Was ever still the same.
Which seem to us so vast,
Than yesterday that's past.
Is to existence brought;
Return ye into nought !
In everlasting sleep;
With overwhelming sweep.
In beauty's pride array'd ;
A PRAYER WRITTEN, AND LEFT, IN THE ROOM IN
WHICH THE AUTHOR SLEPT FOR A NIGHT AT THE HOUSE OF A FRIEND.
O Thou dread Power, who reign’st above !
I know thou wilt me hear:
I make my prayer sincere.
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. She, who her lovely offspring eyes
With tender hopes and fears,
And spare a mother's tears!
In manhood's dawning blush ;
Up to a parent's wish.
Guide thou their steps alway.
O'er life's rough ocean driv'n,
A PRAYER, UNDER THE PRESSURE OF VIOLENT
O Thou Great Being ! what thou art
Surpasses me to know:
Are all thy works below.
Thy creature here before thee stands,
All wretched and distrest;
Obey thy high behest.
Sure thou, Almighty, canst not act
From cruelty or wrath : 0, free my weary eyes from tears,
Or close them fast in death!
But if I must afflicted be,
To suit some wise design;
To bear and not repine.
A PRAYER IN THE PROSPECT OF DEATH.
O Thou unknown, Almighty Cause
Of all my hope and fear!
Perhaps I must appear!
If I have wander'd in those paths
Of life I ought to shun;
Remonstrates I have done;
Thou know'st that thou hast formed me
With passions wild and strong ; And list’ning to their witching roice
Has often led me wrong.
Where human weakness has come short,
Or frailty stept aside,
In shades of darkness hide.
When with intention I have err'd,
No other plea I have,
Delighteth to forgive.
SUNDAY HYMN, IN IMITATION OF DR, WATTS.
This is the day the Lord of life
Ascended to the skies;
And to the Heavens arise.
Let no vain cares divert my mind
From the celestial road;
Detain my soul from God.
Think of the splendours of that place,
The joys that are on high; Nor meanly rest contented here,
With worlds beneath the sky,
To Heav'n their souls ascend;
As father and as friend.
these lovely titles prove My comfort and defence, When the sick couch shall be my lot,
And death shall call me hence.
Hark! the prophetic raven brings