Religious and Moral Poems | Page 5

in immense perdition sinks the soul.
TO THE KING'S MOST EXCELLENT?MAJESTY. 1768.
YOUR subjects hope, dread Sire--?The crown upon your brows may flourish long,?And that your arm may in your God be strong!?O may your sceptre num'rous nations sway,?And all with love and readiness obey!
But how shall we the British king reward!?Rule thou in peace, our father, and our lord!?Midst the remembrance of thy favours past,?The meanest peasants most admire the last*?May George, beloved by all the nations round,?Live with heav'ns choicest constant blessings crown'd!?Great God, direct, and guard him from on high,?And from his head let ev'ry evil fly!?And may each clime with equal gladness see?A monarch's smile can set his subjects free!
? The Repeal of the Stamp Act.
On being brought from Africa to America.
'TWAS mercy brought me from my Pagan land,?Taught my benighted soul to understand?That there's a God, that there's a Saviour too:?Once I redemption neither fought now knew,?Some view our sable race with scornful eye,?"Their colour is a diabolic die."?Remember, Christians, Negroes, black as Cain,?May be refin'd, and join th' angelic train.
On the Death of the Rev. Dr. SEWELL,?1769.
ERE yet the morn its lovely blushes spread,?See Sewell number'd with the happy dead.?Hail, holy man, arriv'd th' immortal shore,?Though we shall hear thy warning voice no more.?Come, let us all behold with wishful eyes?The saint ascending to his native skies;?From hence the prophet wing'd his rapt'rous way?To the blest mansions in eternal day.?Then begging for the Spirit of our God,?And panting eager for the same abode,?Come, let us all with the same vigour rise,?And take a prospect of the blissful skies;?While on our minds Christ's image is imprest,?And the dear Saviour glows in ev'ry breast.?Thrice happy faint! to find thy heav'n at last,?What compensation for the evils past!
Great God, incomprehensible, unknown?By sense, we bow at thine exalted throne.?O, while we beg thine excellence to feel,?Thy sacred Spirit to our hearts reveal,?And give us of that mercy to partake,?Which thou hast promis'd for the Saviour's sake!
"Sewell is dead." Swift-pinion'd Fame thus cry'd.?"Is Sewell dead," my trembling tongue reply'd,?O what a blessing in his flight deny'd!?How oft for us the holy prophet pray'd!?How oft to us the Word of Life convey'd!?By duty urg'd my mournful verse to close,?I for his tomb this epitaph compose.
"Lo, here a man, redeem'd by Jesus's blood,?"A sinner once, but now a saint with God;?"Behold ye rich, ye poor, ye fools, ye wise,?"Not let his monument your heart surprise;?"Twill tell you what this holy man has done,?"Which gives him brighter lustre than the sun.?"Listen, ye happy, from your seats above.?"I speak sincerely, while I speak and love,?"He fought the paths of piety and truth,?"By these made happy from his early youth;?"In blooming years that grace divine he felt,?"Which rescues sinners from the chains of guilt.?"Mourn him, ye indigent, whom he has fed,?"And henceforth seek, like him, for living bread;?"Ev'n Christ, the bread descending from above,?"And ask an int'rest in his saving love.?"Mourn him, ye youth, to whom he oft has told?"God's gracious wonders from the times of old.?"I too have cause this mighty loss to mourn,?"For he my monitor will not return.?"O when shall we to his blest state arrive??"When the same graces in our bosoms thrive."
On the Death of the Rev. Mr. GEORGE
WHITEFIELD. 1770.
HAIL, happy saint, on thine immortal throne,?Possest of glory, life, and bliss unknown;?We hear no more the music of thy tongue,?Thy wonted auditories cease to throng.?Thy sermons in unequall'd accents flow'd,?And ev'ry bosom with devotion glow'd;?Thou didst in strains of eloquence refin'd?Inflame the heart, and captivate the mind.?Unhappy we the setting sun deplore,?So glorious once, but ah! it shines no more.?Behold the prophet in his tow'ring flight!?He leaves the earth for heav'n's unmeasur'd height,?And worlds unknown receive him from our sight.?There Whitefield wings with rapid course his way,?And sails to Zion through vast seas of day.?Thy pray'rs, great saint, and thine incessant cries?Have pierc'd the bosom of thy native skies.?Thou moon hast seen, and all the stars of light,?How he has wrestled with his God by night.?He pray'd that grace in ev'ry heart might dwell,?He long'd to see America excell;?He charg'd its youth that ev'ry grace divine?Should with full lustre in their conduct shine;?That Saviour, which his soul did first receive,?The greatest gift that ev'n a God can give,?He freely offer'd to the num'rous throng,?That on his lips with list'ning pleasure hung.?"Take him, ye wretched, for your only good,?"Take him ye starving sinners, for your food;?"Ye thirsty, come to this life-giving stream,?"Ye preachers, take him for your joyful theme;?"Take him my dear Americans, he said,?"Be your complaints on his kind bosom laid:?"Take him, ye Africans, he longs for you,?"Impartial Saviour is his title due:?"Wash'd in the fountain of redeeming blood,?"You shall be sons, and kings, and priests to God."?Great Countess,* we Americans revere?Thy name, and mingle in thy grief sincere;?New England deeply feels, the