Why was an independent with

E'er planted in my mind?

If not, why am I subject to
His cruelty, or fcorn?

Or why has Man the will and pow'r
To make his fellow mourn?

X.

Yet, let not this too much, my Son,
Disturb thy youthful breast :
This partial view of human-kind

Is furely not the last!

The poor, oppreffed, honeft man

Had never, fure, been born,

Had there not been fome recompenfe
To comfort those that mourn!

XI.

O Death! the poor man's dearest friend,

The kindeft and the beft!

Welcome the hour my aged limbs

Are laid with thee at reft!

The Great, the Wealthy fear thy blow,
From pomp and pleasure torn;

But, Oh! a bleft relief to those
That weary-laden mourn!

A

A

PRAYER,

IN THE

PROSPECT OF DEATH.

I.

O THOU unknown, Almighty Cause

Of all my hope and fear!

In whose dread Presence, ere an hour,

Perhaps I muft appear!

II.

II.

If I have wander'd in those paths
Of life I ought to shun;

As Something, loudly, in my breast,
Remonftrates I have done;

III.

/ Thou know'ft that Thou haft formed me With Paffions wild and strong;

And lift'ning to their witching voice

Has often led me wrong.

IV.

Where human weakness has come short,

Or frailty fept aside,

Do

Do Thou, All-Good! for fuch Thou art,

In fhades of darkness hide.

V.

Where with intention I have err'd,

No other Plea I have,

But, Thou art good; and Goodness still
Delighteth to forgive.

STANZAS