 | Poems on Several Occasions |  |
90
The 39th Psalm.
I said, I will with strictest Caution tread,
And ever jealous my own Rashness dread;
Lest haply, my unguarded Tongue betray
Impatient Sense of Providence's Sway.
My Mouth, as with a Bridle, I'll restrain,
And wicked Men shall watch my Words in vain.
And ever jealous my own Rashness dread;
Lest haply, my unguarded Tongue betray
Impatient Sense of Providence's Sway.
My Mouth, as with a Bridle, I'll restrain,
And wicked Men shall watch my Words in vain.
Determin'd thus, I kept my Silence long,
Nor Good or Evil issu'd from my Tongue.
But secret Musings secret Pains impart,
And Grief supprest inflam'd my burning Heart.
Till warm Reflection kindled in my Breast,
And thus my Tongue the fervent Thought exprest.
Nor Good or Evil issu'd from my Tongue.
But secret Musings secret Pains impart,
And Grief supprest inflam'd my burning Heart.
Till warm Reflection kindled in my Breast,
And thus my Tongue the fervent Thought exprest.
91
Teach me, O Lord, to mark, with Wisdom's Eyes,
The narrow Bounds in which my Being lies;
The scanty Measure of my Years to weigh,
And know my frail Affinity with Clay.
Behold, how transient is the Creature Man!
His longest Period lies within a Span.
His Age ev'n seems as Nothing in thine Eye,
And all his Glory is but Vanity.
Soon flit his Visionary Joys away,
Himself the empty Pageant of Day:
Yet the fond Wretch consumes himself with Care,
Collecting Riches for an unknown Heir.
The narrow Bounds in which my Being lies;
The scanty Measure of my Years to weigh,
And know my frail Affinity with Clay.
Behold, how transient is the Creature Man!
His longest Period lies within a Span.
His Age ev'n seems as Nothing in thine Eye,
And all his Glory is but Vanity.
Soon flit his Visionary Joys away,
Himself the empty Pageant of Day:
Yet the fond Wretch consumes himself with Care,
Collecting Riches for an unknown Heir.
Since then each Man is Vanity and Dust,
In whom shall I repose my Hope and Trust?
Where shall my Soul for real Good attend?
Where but on Thee, the never-failing Friend?
Of Guilt and Shame remove the pressive Load,
And let me still find Favour with my God.
Oh! let me from my Enemies have rest,
And be exempted from the Scorner's Jest.
Speechless I suffer what's ordain'd by Thee,
And by my Silence own the just Decree:
Yet oh! remove or mitigate my Woe,
Alas! I faint beneath the pond'rous Blow:
How should a Worm before thy Terrors stand?
Or bear the Crush of an Almighty Hand?
When thy just Vengeance chastens Man for Sin,
And Conscience stings the guilty Wretch within;
His Frame decays, his blooming Beauty dies,
And from his Cheek the lively Colour flies.
So eating Moths consume the Weaver's Toils,
Fret the rich Web and triumph in the Spoils.
In whom shall I repose my Hope and Trust?
Where shall my Soul for real Good attend?
Where but on Thee, the never-failing Friend?
92
And let me still find Favour with my God.
Oh! let me from my Enemies have rest,
And be exempted from the Scorner's Jest.
Speechless I suffer what's ordain'd by Thee,
And by my Silence own the just Decree:
Yet oh! remove or mitigate my Woe,
Alas! I faint beneath the pond'rous Blow:
How should a Worm before thy Terrors stand?
Or bear the Crush of an Almighty Hand?
When thy just Vengeance chastens Man for Sin,
And Conscience stings the guilty Wretch within;
His Frame decays, his blooming Beauty dies,
And from his Cheek the lively Colour flies.
So eating Moths consume the Weaver's Toils,
Fret the rich Web and triumph in the Spoils.
93
Surely each Man is vain to an extreme,
Himself a Vapour, and his Life a Dream.
Himself a Vapour, and his Life a Dream.
Hear, mighty God, consider all my Pray'rs,
And give an Answer to my falling Tears.
Lo! thou hast fix'd my short Abode on Earth,
A Stranger and a Pilgrim from my Birth;
A Traveller who soon must disappear,
Ev'n such am I, and such my Fathers were.
Oh! for a while reprieve me from the Tomb,
Pity my Youth and heal its fading Bloom.
Suspend my Fate, my wasted Strength repair,
Before I leave the well-known Objects here.
Ere in the Grave I shall forgotten lie,
Lost to my Friends and hid from ev'ry Eye.
And give an Answer to my falling Tears.
Lo! thou hast fix'd my short Abode on Earth,
A Stranger and a Pilgrim from my Birth;
A Traveller who soon must disappear,
Ev'n such am I, and such my Fathers were.
Oh! for a while reprieve me from the Tomb,
Pity my Youth and heal its fading Bloom.
Suspend my Fate, my wasted Strength repair,
Before I leave the well-known Objects here.
Ere in the Grave I shall forgotten lie,
Lost to my Friends and hid from ev'ry Eye.
| Poems on Several Occasions | |