Till, settling on the current year, I found the far-sought treasure near; A theme t' ennoble even mine, In memorable eighty-nine. The spring of eighty-nine shall be For then the clouds of eighty-eight One breath of Heaven, that cried-Restore? Chas'd, never to assemble more; And far the richest crown on earth, Then peace and joy again possess'd The good on earth they valu'd most, O Queen of Albion, queen of isles! Since all thy tears were chang'd to smiles, The eyes that never saw thee shine With joy not unallied to thine, Transports not chargeable with art Illume the land's remotest part, And strangers to the air of courts, If they who on thy state attend, Awe-struck, before thy presence bend, "Tis but the natural effect Of grandeur that ensures respect; HYMN, For the use of the Sunday School at Olney. And taught to seek thy face. Thanks for thy word and for thy day, And grant us, we implore, Never to waste, in sinful play Thanks that we hear-but O impart That we may listen with our heart, For if vain thoughts the minds engage What hope that at our heedless age, Our minds should e'er be free? Much hope, if thou our spirits take Wisdom and bliss thy word bestows, A sun that ne'er declines, And be thy mercies shower'd on those, 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 WHILE thirteen moons saw smoothly run The Nen's barge-laden wave, All these, life's rambling journey done, Was man, (frail always) made more frail Did famine or did plague prevail, That so much death appears ? Composed for John Cox, parish clerk of Northampto... No; these were vig'rous as their sires, Like crowded forest-trees we stand, Green as the bay-tree, ever green, The gay, the thoughtless, have I seen, Read, ye that run, the awful truth, No present health can health ensure 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! T Improve the present hour, for all beside 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 Then doubtless many a trifler, on the brink Told that his setting sun must rise no more |