Thy providence my life sustain’d, i And all my wants redress’d, When in the silent womb I lay, And hung upon the breast. To all my weak complaints and cries Thy mercy lent an ear, To form themselves in prayer. Unnumberd comforts to my soul Thy tender care bestow'd, Before my infant heart conceived From whom those comforts flow'd. When in the slippery paths of youth With heedless steps I ran, And led me up to man. Through hidden dangers, toils, and deaths, 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 renewd my face; And when in sins and sorrow 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 my store. Ten thousand thousand precious gifts My daily thanks employ; That tastes those gifts with joy. Through every period of my life Thy goodness I'll pursue ; 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, But, oh! eternity's too short To utter all thy praise. CREATION. 1 BY THE SAME. The lofty pillars of the sky, THE WISH. BY MERRICK. How short is life's uncertain's space! Alas ! how quickly done! How swift the wild precarious chase! And yet how difficult the race! How very hard to run! Youth stops at first its wilful ears To wisdom's prudent voice; Till now arrived to riper years, Experienced Age, worn out with cares, Repents its earlier choice. What though its prospects now appear So pleasing and refined ? Yet groundless hope, and anxious fear, By turns the busy moments share, And prey upon the mind. Since then false joys our fancy cheat With hopes of real bliss; Ye guardian powers, that rule my fate, The only wish that I create, Is all comprised in this : May I, through life's uncertain tide, Be still from pain exempt; And yet above contempt. But should your providence divine A greater bliss intend; May all those blessings you design, (If e'er those blessings shall be mine) Be centred in a friend. TO THE MOON. A SONNET. BY CHARLOTTE SMITH. Queen of the silver bow!-by thy pale beam, Alone and pensive, I delight to stray, And watch thy shadow trembling in the stream, Or mark the floating clonds that cross thy way. And while I gaze, thy mild and placid light Sheds a soft calm upon my troubled breast; And oft I think,-fair planet of the night, That in thy orb the wretched may lave rest : |