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And Oh! that humble as my lot,

And scorned as is my strain,

Thefe 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!

ON A SIMILAR OCCASION,

FOR THE YEAR 1788.

Quod adest, memento

Componere æquus. Cætera fluminis

Ritu feruntur.

HOR:

Improve the present hour, for all befide
Is a mere feather on a torrent's tide.

COULD I, from heaven inspired, as fure prefage To whom the rifing year fhall prove his laft; As I can number in my pun&tual page,

And-item down the victims of the paft;

How each would trembling wait the mournful sheet,
On which the press might ftamp him next to die;
And, reading here his fentence, how replete
With anxious meaning, heaven-ward turn his eye!

Time then would feem more precious than the joys,
In which he sports away the treasure now;
And prayer more seasonable than the noise
Of drunkards, or the mufic-drawing bow.

Then doubtless many a trifler, on the brink
Of this world's hazardous and headlong fhore,
Forced to a paufe, would feel it good to think,
Told that his fetting fun muft rife no more.

Ah felf-deceived! Could I prophetic fay
Who next is fated, and who next to fall,
The reft might then feem privileged to play;
But, naming none, the Voice now speaks to ALL.

Obferve the dappled forefters, how light

They bound, and airy o'er the funny glade-
One falls-the reft, wide-scattered with affright,
Vanish at once into the darkest shade.

Had we their wisdom, should we often warned,
Still need repeated warnings, and at last,
A thousand awful admonitions fcorned,
Die felf-accused of life run all to wafte?

Sad wafte! for which no after-thrift atones.
The grave admits no cure for guilt or fin;
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 these fepulchres, inftructors true,
That, foon or late, death alfo is your lot,

And the next opening grave may yawn for you.

ON A SIMILAR OCCASION,

FOR THE YEAR 1789.

-Placidaque ibi demum morte quievit.

VIRG.

There calm at length he breathed his foul away.

"OH moft delightful hour by man

"Experienced here below, "The hour that terminates his span,

"His folly, and his woe!

"Worlds fhould not bribe me back to tread

"Again life's dreary waste,

"To fee again my day o'erspread "With all the gloomy past.

"My home henceforth is in the skies, "Earth, feas, and fun adieu!

"All heaven unfolded to my eyes, "I have no fight for you."

So fpoke Afpafio, firm poffeft

Of faith's fupporting rod,
Then breathed his foul into its reft,

The bofom of his God.

He was a man among the few

Sincere on virtue's fide;

And all his ftrength from scripture drew, To hourly use applied.

That rule he prized, by that he feared,
He hated, hoped, and loved;

Nor ever frowned, or fad appeared,
But when his heart had roved.

For he was frail as thou or I,

And evil felt within:

But when he felt it, heaved a figh,.
And loathed the thought of fin.

Such lived Afpafio; and at laft

Called up from Earth to Heaven,

The gulph of death triumphant passed, By gales of bleffing driven.

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