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2 Oh grant me to desire the pain

That comes in kindness down,
More than the world's supremest gain

Succeeded by thy frown.
3 Then, tho’ thou bend my spirit low,

Love only shall I see:
The very hand that strikes the blow,

Was wounded once for me.



1 O most delightful hour by man

Experienc'd here below,
The hour that terminates his span,

His folly and his wo! 2 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.
3 My home henceforth is in the skies,

Earth, seas, and sun, adieu ! All heav'n unfolded to my eyes,

I have no sight for you.
4 So speaks the Christian, firm possess'd

Of Faith's supporting rod,
Then breathes his soul into its rest;
The bosom of his God.


1 He lives, who lives to God alone,

And all are dead beside ;
For other source than God is none,

Whence life can be supplied. 2 To live to God is to requite

His love as best we may;
To make his precepts our delight,

His promises our stay.
3 But life, within a narrow ring

Of giddy joys compris’d,
Is falsely nam'd, and no such thing,

But rather death disguis’d.
4 Can life in them deserve the name,

Who only live to prove For what poor toys they can disclaim

An endless life above ? 5 Who trample order, and the day

Which God asserts his own, Dishonour with unhallow'd play,

And worship chance alone? 6 If scorn of God's commands, impress'd

On word and deed, imply
The better part of man unbless'd

With life that cannot die; 7 Such want it, and that want, uncur'd

Till man resigns his breath, Speaks him a criminal, assurd

Of everlasting death.

8 Sad period to a pleasant course!

Yet so will God repay
Sabbaths profan'd without remorse,

And mercy cast away.



1 Thankless for favours from on higli,

Man thinks he fades too soon; Tho' 'tis his privilege to die,

Would he improve the boon. 2 But he, not wise enough to scan

His best concerns aright,
Would gladly stretch life's little span

To ages, if he might.
3 Strange fondness of the human heart

Enamour'd of its harm! Strange world, that costs it so much smart,

And still has power to charm. 4 Whence has the world her magic pow?r?

Why deem we death a foe? Recoil from weary life's best hour,

And covet longer wo! 5 The cause is conscience-conscience oft

Her tale of guilt renews: Her voice is terrible, tho sost,

And dread of death ensues. 6 Then anxious to be longer spar'l,

Man mourns his fleeting breath:

All evils then seem light compar'd

With the approach of death. 7 'Tis judgment shakes him; there's the fear

That prompts the wish to stay:
He has incurr'd a long arrear,

And must despair to pay.
8 Pay !-follow Christ, and all is paid;

His death your peace ensures ; Think on the grave where he was laid,

And calm descend to yours.


EPITAPH. 1 Forgive, blest shade, the tributary tear,

That mourns thy exit from a world like this; Forgive the wish that would have kept thee

here, And stay'd thy progress to the seats of

bliss. 2 No more confin’d to grov'ling scenes of

night, No more a tenant pent in mortal clay; Now should we rather hail thy glorious

flight, And trace thy journey to the realms of day.


UNCERTAINTY OF LIFE. 1 Man like a flower at morn appears,

And blooms perhaps a few short years:

The flatterer, Hope, still leads him on
In quest of pleasure, finding none;
Or, if he finds it for a day,

It soon takes wings and flies away.
2 Oft things which promise passing fair,

Deceive and yield him naught but care.
Care, ever varying, ever new,
Must still our fallen race pursue;
Comes joy? care with it comes along,

And spoils the syren's sweetest song. 3 See pleasure with bewitching charms,

Man grasps it in his eager arms;
The vision swift dissolves in air,
He grasps—but finds it is not there;
The airy phantom still he views,

And still as vainly he pursues.
4 A better hope the Christian cheers,

Which joyful thro’ life's gloom appears; Firm on a rock his hope he builds, Which to no storm nor tempest yields; Let earth dissolve--he will not fear;

And why? his hope is not fix'd here. 5 He looks to heav'n where ev'ry joy

Is pure, unmix'd, without alloy;
Joys such as mortals never knew,
Nor raptur'd fancy ever drew,
Joys which shall never pass away;

Tho' heav'n and earth should both decay. 6 Tho' worldly pleasures here should fail,

And sorrows for awhile prevail;

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