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“ So man departs the living scene

To night's perpetual gloom;
The voice of morning ne'er shall break

The slumbers of the tomb.

“ Where are our fathers? whither gone

The mighty men of old ?
The patriarchs, prophets, priests, and kings,

In sacred books enrolled ?

“Gone to the resting-place of man,

The everlasting home,
Where ages past have gone before,

Where future ages coine."

Thus Nature poured the wail of woe,

And urged her earnest cry ;
Her voice in agony extreme

Ascended to the sky.

The Almighty heard : then from his throne

In majesty He rose;
And from the heaven that opened wide,

His voice in mercy flows :

“When mortal man resigns his breath,

And falls a clod of clay,
The soul, immortal, wings its flight

To never-setting day.


Prepared of old for wicked men,

The bed of torment lies;
The just shall enter into bliss,

Immortal in the skies.”



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At last, my arms embrace my Lord,

Now let their vigour cease; At last my eyes my Saviour see,

Now let them close in peace!

“ The star and glory of the land,

Hath now begun to shine;
The morning that shall gild the globe

Breaks on these eyes of mine."


O God of Bethel! by whose hand

Thy people still are fed;
Who through this weary pilgrimage,

Hast all our fathers led;

Our vows, our prayers, we now present

Before thy throne of grace : God of our fathers, be the God

Of their succeeding race.

Through each perplexing path of life

Our wandering footsteps guide ; Give us each day our daily bread,

And raiment fit provide.

Oh! spread thy covering wings around,

Till all our wanderings cease, And at our father's loved abode,

Our souls arrive in peace!

Such blessings from thy gracious hand

Our humble prayers implore; And Thou shalt be our chosen God,

And portion evermore.


THE rush may rise where waters flow,

And flags beside the stream;
But soon their verdure fades and dies

Before the scorching beam.

So is the sinner's hope cut off;

Or, if it transient rise, 'Tis like the spider's airy web,

Fron every breath that flies.

Fixed on his house he leans : his house,

And all its props decay;
He holds it fast; but, while he holds,

The tottering frame gives way.

Fair, in his garden, to the sun,

His boughs with verdure smile; And deeply fixed his spreading roots,

Unshaken stand awhile.

But forth the sentence flies from heaven,

That sweeps him from his place; Which then denies him for its lord,

Nor owns it knew his face.

Lo! this the joy of wicked men,

Who heaven's high law despise : They quickly fall; and in their room,

As quickly others rise.

But, for the just, with gracious care,

God will his power employ;
He'll teach their lips to sing his praise,

And fill their hearts with joy.


Was a physician at St. Alban's, where he acquired great reputation in his profession, and died in 1798.

The poetical compositions of Cotton are distinguished by a refined elegance of sentiment, and simplicity of expression. He writes flowingly and correctly; and sometimes with elevation and spirit. His thoughts are always just, and religiously pure. All his works convey religious and moral instruction to the reader.


But, if

Ler not the young my precepts shun:
Who slight good counsels are undone.
Your poet sung of love's delights,
Of halcyon days and joyous nights;
To the gay fancy lovely themes;
And fain I'd hope they're more than dreams.

you please, before we part,
I'd speak a language to your heart.
We'll talk of Life, though much I fear
Th' ungrateful tale would wound your ear.
You raise your sanguine thoughts too high,
And hardly know the reason why:
But say, life's tree bears golden fruit,
Some canker shall corrode the root ;
Some unexpected storm shall rise,
Or scorching suns, or chilling skies;
And (if experienced truths prevail)
All your autumnal hopes shall fail.
“But, poet, whence such wide extremes ?
Well may you style your labours dreams.
A son of sorrow thou, I ween,
Whose visions are the brats of Spleen.
Is bliss a vague unmeaning name?
Speak then the passions' use or aim?

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