O Thou, Great Governor of all below!

If I

may dare a lifted eye to Thee,

Thy nod can make the tempeft cease to blow,
Or ftill the tumult of the raging sea :
With that controuling pow'r affift ev'n me,

Those headlong, furious paffions to confine
For all unfit I feel my powers be,

To rule their torrent in th' allowed line ;

;

O, aid me with Thy help, Omnipotence Divine!

Lying at a Reverend Friend's house, one night, the Author left the following Verses in the room where be flept :

OTHOL

I.

THOU dread Pow'r, who reign't above,

I know Thou wilt me hear;

When for this scene of peace and love,
I make my prayer fincere.

II.

The hoary fire-the mortal stroke,
Long, long be pleas'd to fpare;
To blefs his little filial flock,
And fhow what good men are.

III.

She, who her lovely Offspring eyes
With tender hopes and fears,

O blefs her with a Mother's joys,
But fpare a Mother's tears!

IV.

Their hope, their stay, their darling youth,

In manhood's dawning blush;

Blefs him, Thou God of love and truth,
Up to a Parents with,

V.

The beauteous, feraph Sifter-band
With earnest tears I pray,

Thou know'ft the fnares on ev'ry hand,

Guide Thou their fteps alway.

VI.

When foon or late they reach that coaft,
O'er life's rough ocean driven,

May they rejoice, no wand'rer loft,
A Family in Heaven,

THE

FIRST PSALM.

THE man, in life where-ever plac'd

Hath happiness in store,

Who walks not in the wicked's way

Nor learns their guilty lore!

Nor from the feat of fcornful Pride
Cafts forth his eyes abroad,
But with humility and awe
Still walks before his God.

That man fhall flourish like the trees
Which by the streamlets grow ;
The fruitful top is spread on high,
And firm the root below.

But he whose bloffom buds in guilt

Shall to the ground be caft,
And like the rootlefs ftubble toft,
Before the fweeping blast.

For why? that God the good adore
Hath giv'n them peace and reit,
But hath decreed that wicked men
Shall ne'er be truly bleft.

A

PRAYER,

Under the Preffure of Violent Anguish.

THOU great Being! what Thou art,

Surpaffes me to know:

Yet fure I am, that known to Thee

Are all Thy works below.

Thy creature here before Thee ftands,

All wretched and distrest;

Yet fure thofe ills that wring my foul
Obey Thy high beheft.

Sure Thou, Almighty, canft not act
From cruelty or wrath!

O, free my weary eyes

from tears,

Or close them faft in death!

But if I maft afflicted be,

To fuit fome wise design ;

Then, man my foul with firm refolves
To bear and not repine!