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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,
'Tis but the natural effect
Of grandeur that ensures respect;
FOR THE USE OF THE SUNDAY SCHOOL AT OLNET.
Hear, Lord, the song of praise and pray'
In Heav'n, thy dwelling place,
And taught to seek thy face.
Thanks for thy word, and for thy day,
And grant us, we implore,
Thy holy sabbaths more.
Thanks that we hear!— But O impart
To each desires sincere,
And learn as well as hear.
For if vain thoughts the minds engage
Of older far than we,
Our minds should e'er be free?
Much hope, if thou our spirits take
Under thy gracious sway,
And babes as wise as they.
Wisdom and bliss thy word bestows,
A sun that ne'er declines,
Who plac'd us where it shines.
S T A N Z AS
THE YEARLY BILL OF MORTALITY
OF THE PARISH O!
Anno Domini, 1787.
Pallida Mors æquo pulsat pede pauperum tabernas,
Pale Death with equal foot strikes wide the door
While thirteen moons saw smoothly run
The Nen's barge-laden wave,
Have found their home, the grave.
Was man (frail always) made more frail
Than in foregoing years?
That so much death appears?
* Composed for John Cox, parish clerk of Northampton
No; these were vig’rous as their sires,
Nor plague nor famine came; This annual tribute Death requires,
And never waves his claim.
Like crowded forest-trees we stand,
And some are mark'd to fall;
The axe will smite at God's command,
And soon shall smite us all.
Green as the bay-tree, ever green,
With it's new foliage on,
I pass’d—and they were gone.
Read, ye that run, the awful truth,
With which I charge my page;
A worm is in the bud of youth,
And at the root of age.