Page images
PDF
EPUB

POEM

Written by a Gentleman, on seeing the body of his only son in a coffin, who died under five years of age.

Look, Sensibility, on this,

The little fondling boy!

Who wou'd on tip-toes beg a kiss,
With, dear papa, good-bye.

Whose harmless soul, and prattling tongue,

(Seen with a parent's eye)

Bright future prospects spread along;

But-ended in a sigh.

Whence all this fondness, Wisdom, say,

Which makes me look intent

Upon this little lump of clay,
And call it innocent?

'Tis that affection, wisely meant,
(By pow'r Almighty giv❜n)
To nurse a life God only lent,
Till order'd home to heav'n.

Th' affection you have shewn, so true,
He wants not-tho' 'twas kind—

Divide it now, where 'tis most due,
'Mongst those he left behind.

X

Let judgment over passion get
Its reasonable sway;

He, for himself, has paid that debt,
You, for yourself, must pay.

Come, silly mortal! take your stand,
Here view the world unknown;
Now would you wish him in your hand,
Or in his God's alone?

'Tis wisdom brings you here, to see
A sight your heart must bless;
Him on his heavenly Father's knee,
You with one care the less.

His innocence to rest is gone

In preference to you; Remember, tho' his work is done,

That yours is yet to do.

Then dry your tears, your duty know,

Rejoice that this is true;
To him you certainly may go,

Who cannot come to you.

. Let Wisdom's voice be heard alone,
Nor vainly think to see
A lasting comfort, built upon
Short-liv❜d mortality.

Pow'r infinite, and wisdom, claim
Authority supreme;

Goodness and Mercy are his name,
And rectitude his scheme.

Shall Passion to calm goodness preach
How matters ought to be?

Or Ignorance pretend to teach
Infalibility.

Pleasure will various arts employ
To lead your feet astray;
Affliction is the guide-post nigh,
To keep you in your way.

'Tis GOD presides o'er things below, Submission is his due;

That duty to your Father shew,
Your child has shewn for you.

Hail, Wisdom's voice-I will obey,

Folly and shame unite;

Passion uo more shall bear the sway,

'Tis wisdom I invite.

The expectation, rais'd too high,
Made my child's case my own;
To build a house of cards-then cry
Because it tumbled down.

Grant to my soul-(this is my pray'r)

A ray of light divine;
To see things as they truly are,
And happiness is mine.

Then Disappointment's cruel hand,
Can never wound my ease;
For patience, by divine command,
Shall stand to keep the peace.

Tho' troubles round me cloud the day,
I cannot be undone,

Whilst Resignation's voice shall say,
Thy will and mine be one.

When kind affliction shall appear,
I then can kiss the rod;
And all my passions bring to bear
Allegiance to my God.

With him I will no danger dread,
But hope for what's to come;
Cheerful pursue the path he made,
To lead me to my home.

Freeman's Journal.

THE FOLLOWING

JEU D' ESPRIT

Was the production of the present Dean of Derry, Dr. Barnard, who advanced, in conversation with Sir Joshua Reynolds and other wits, that he thought "no man could improve when he was past the age of forty-five." Johnson (Samue!) who was in company, with his usual roughness, immediately turned round to the facetious Dean, and told him he was an instance to the contrary, for that there was great room for improvement in him (the Dean) and wished he'd set about it; upon which, the Dean the next day sent the following elegant Bagatelle to Sir Joshua and the same company.

TO SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS AND Co.

BY THE DEAN OF DERRY.

I LATELY thought no man alive
Could e'er improve past forty-five,
And ventur'd to assert it;

The observation was not new,

But seem'd to me so just and true,
That none could controvert it.

"No, sir," says Johnson, "tis not so,
That's your mistake, and I can shew
An instance if you doubt it;
You, sir, who are near forty-eight,
May much improve, 'tis not too late,
I wish you'd set about it."

« PreviousContinue »