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When in the slippery paths of youth

With heedless steps I ran,
Thine arm, unseen, convey'd me safe,

And led me up to man.
Through hidden dangers, toils, and death,

It gently clear'd my way; And through the pleasing snares of vice,

More to be fear'd than they. When worn with sickness, oft hast thou

With health renew'd my face;
And when in sins and sorrows sunk,

Revived my soul with grace.
Thy bounteous hand with worldly bliss
Has made

my cup run o'er, And in a kind and faithful friend Has doubled all


Ten thousand thousand precious gifts

My daily thanks employ ;
Nor is the least a cheerful heart,

That tastes those gifts with joy.
Through every period of my life

Thy goodness I'll pursue;
And after death, in distant worlds,

The glorious theme renew.
When nature fails, and day and night

Divide thy works no more,
My ever-grateful heart, O Lord!

Thy mercy shall adore.
Through all eternity to Thee

A joyful song I'll raise; For oh! eternity's too short

To utter all thy praise.

How are thy servants bless'd, O Lord!

How sure is their defence !
Eternal wisdom is their guide,

Their help Omnipotence.
In foreign realms, and lands remote,

Supported by thy care,
Through burning climes I pass'd unhurt,

And breath'd in tainted air.
Thy mercy sweeten'd every soil,

Made every region please;
The hoary Alpine hills it warm'd,

And smooth'd the Tyrrhene seas.
Think, O my soul! devoutly think,

How, with affrighted eyes,
Thou saw'st the wide-extended deep

In all its horrors rise.
Confusion dwelt on every face,

And fear in every heart;
When waves on waves, and gulfs on gulfs,

O’ercame the pilot's art.
Yet then from all my griefs, O Lord !

Thy mercy set me free;
Whilst in the confidence of prayer

My soul took hold on thee.
For though in dreadful whirls we hung

High on the broken wave,
I knew thou wert not slow to hear,

Nor impotent to save.
The storm was laid, the winds retired,

Obedient to thy will;
The sea, that roar'd at thy command,

At thy command was still.

In midst of dangers, fears, and death,

Thy goodness I'll adore ;
And praise thee for thy mercies past,

And humbly hope for more.
My life, if thou preserv’st my life,

Thy sacrifice shall be;
And death, if death must be my doom,

Shall join my soul to thee.


WHEN rising from the bed of death,

O'erwhelm'd with guilt and fear,
I see my Maker face to face,

O how shall I appear?
If yet, while pardon may be found,

And mercy may be sought,
My heart with inward horror shrinks,

And trembles at the thought:
When thou, O Lord! shalt stand disclosed

In majesty severe,
And sit in judgment on my soul,

O how shall I appear?
But thou hast told the troubled soul,

Who does her sins lament,
The timely tribute of her tears

Shall endless woe prevent.
Then see the sorrows of my heart,

Ere yet it be too late;
And add my Saviour's dying groans,

To give those sorrows weight.

For never shall my soul despair

Her pardon to procure,
Who knows thy only Son has died

To make that pardon sure.


The Lord my pasture shall prepare
And feed me with a shepherd's care:
His presence shall my wants supply,
And guard me with a watchful eye;
My noon-day walks he shall attend,
And all my midnight hours defend.
When in the sultry glebe I faint,
Or on the thirsty mountain pant,
To fertile vales and dewy meads
My weary wandering steps he leads ;
Where peaceful rivers, soft and slow,
Amid the verdant landscape flow.
Though in the paths of death I tread,
With gloomy horrors overspread,
My stedfast heart shall fear no ill,
For thou, O Lord! art with me still ;
Thy friendly crook shall give me aid,
And guide me through the dreadful shade.
Though, in a bare and rugged way,
Through devious lonely wilds I stray,
Thy bounty shall my wants beguile;
The barren wilderness shall smile,
With sudden greens and herbage crown'd,
And streams shall murmur all around,


TO PHÆDRA AND HIPPOLITUS. 1707. LONG has a race of heroes fill’d the stage, That rant by note, and through the gamut rage; In songs and airs


their martial fire, Combat in trills, and in a fugue expire; While lull’d by sound, and undisturb’d by wit, Calm and serene you indolently sit, And from the dull fatigue of thinking free, Hear the facetious fiddles' repartee: Our homespun authors must forsake the field, And Shakspeare to the soft Scarlatti yield.

To your new taste the poet of this day Was by a friend advised to form his play. Had Valentini, musically coy,

[joy, Shunnid Phædra's arms, and scorn'd the proffer'd It had not moved your wonder to have seen An eunuch fly from an enamour'd queen: How would it please should she in English speak, And could Hippolitus reply in Greek? But he, a stranger to your modish way, By your old rules must stand or fall to-day, And hopes you will your foreign taste command To bear, for once, with what




TO THE TENDER HUSBAND. 1705. In the first rise and infancy of farce, [scarce, When fools were many, and when plays were The raw unpractised authors could, with ease, A young and unexperienced audience please :

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