Much hope, if thou our spirits take Under thy gracious sway, Who canst the wisest wiser make, Wisdom and bliss thy word bestows, And be thy mercies shower'd on those, STANZAS Subjoined to the Yearly Bill of Mortality of the Parish of All-Saints, Northampton,* Anno Domini 1787. Pallida Mors, aquo pulsat pede pauperum tabernas Regumque turres. Horace. Pale Death with equal foot strikes wide the door WHILE thirteen moons saw smoothly run The Nen's barge-laden wave, All these, life's rambling journey done, Was man, (frail always) made more frail Did famine or did plague prevail, That so much death appears? * Composed for John Cox, parish clerk of Northampton. No; these were vig'rous as their sires, Like crowded forest-trees we stand, Green as the bay-tree, ever green, The gay, the thoughtless, have I seen, Read, ye that run, the awful truth, No present health can health ensure No med'cine, though it oft can cure, And O! that humble as my lot, And scorn'd as is my strain, These truths, though known, too much forgot, I may not teach in vain. So prays your clerk with all his heart, And ere he quits the pen, Begs you for once to take his part, And answer all-Amen! Improve the present hour, for all beside COULD I, from Heav'n inspir'd, as sure presage To whom the rising year shall prove his last, As I can number in my punctual page, And item down the victims of the past; How each would trembling wait the mournful shect On which the press might stamp him next to die, And reading here his sentence, how replete With anxious meaning, heav'nward turn his eye! Time then would seem more precious than the joys Then doubtless many a trifler, on the brink Of this world's hazardous and headlong shore, Forc'd to a pause, would feel it good to think, Told that his setting sun must rise no more. Ah self-deceiv'd! Could I prophetick say Who next is fated, and who next to fall, The rest might then seem privileg'd to play ; But naming none, the voice now speaks to ALL. Observe the dappled foresters, how light They bound and airy o'er the sunny glade— One falls the rest, wide scatter'd with affright, Vanish at once into the darkest shade. Had we their wisdom, should we, often warn'd, A thousand awful admonitions scorn'd, Die self-accus'd of life run all to waste? Sad waste! for which no after-thrift atones, Learn then ye living! by the mouths be taught And the next op'ning grave may yawn for you ON A SIMILAR OCCASION, FOR THE YEAR 1789. .....Placidaque ibi demum morte quievit. VIRG. There calm at length he breath'd his soul away. "O MOST delightful hour by man Experienc'd here below, The hour that terminates his span, His folly, and his wo! Worlds should not bribe me back to tread Again life's dreary waste, To see again my day o'erspread With all the gloomy past. My home henceforth is in the skies, All Heav'n unfolded to my eyes, So spake Aspasio, firm possess'd Of faith's supporting rod, Then breath'd his soul into its rest, He was a man among the few Sincere on virtue's side; And all his strength from Scripture drew. To hourly use applied. |