 | Poems on Several Occasions |  |
A Prayer for a sick Friend.
Father of Mercies, who alone can'st save
Our tott'ring Bodies from the silent Grave;
Before thy awful Throne Arch-angels bend,
And Day and Night thy great Commands attend.
Thou reign'st for ever, an Almighty King,
While Seraphims Thy sacred Praises sing.
Yet, plac'd on high, thou humbly deign'st to hear,
From faithful Lips, a suppliant Mortal's Pray'r.
Our tott'ring Bodies from the silent Grave;
Before thy awful Throne Arch-angels bend,
And Day and Night thy great Commands attend.
Thou reign'st for ever, an Almighty King,
While Seraphims Thy sacred Praises sing.
Yet, plac'd on high, thou humbly deign'st to hear,
From faithful Lips, a suppliant Mortal's Pray'r.
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A Friend I have, for whom I deeply grieve,
Beyond the Prospect of the least Reprieve.
Long has she struggled with the latent Pain,
And try'd the Pow'r of healing Arts in vain:
All their Endeavours unsuccessful prove,
That should the secret unknown Cause remove:
The strong Distemper mocks their utmost Skill,
But Thou canst cure her, if it be Thy Will.
Health is a Blessing, only Thou can'st give,
“Return again ye Sons of Men and live.
Thus can'st Thou say, thus ward th' impending Doom,
And snatch the Mortal from the gaping Tomb.
Low on my Knees, in humble Faith, I bend
And beg Assistance for my suff'ring Friend.
Hear me, oh! hear me, Comforter divine,
Oh! let thy Attribute of Mercy shine:
Abate her Pains, and all her Wants redress,
And crown her, Lord, with Health and Happiness.
In kind Compassion grant this gracious Boon,
Yet not my Will, but Thine alone be done.
Beyond the Prospect of the least Reprieve.
Long has she struggled with the latent Pain,
And try'd the Pow'r of healing Arts in vain:
All their Endeavours unsuccessful prove,
That should the secret unknown Cause remove:
The strong Distemper mocks their utmost Skill,
But Thou canst cure her, if it be Thy Will.
Health is a Blessing, only Thou can'st give,
“Return again ye Sons of Men and live.
Thus can'st Thou say, thus ward th' impending Doom,
And snatch the Mortal from the gaping Tomb.
Low on my Knees, in humble Faith, I bend
And beg Assistance for my suff'ring Friend.
Hear me, oh! hear me, Comforter divine,
Oh! let thy Attribute of Mercy shine:
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And crown her, Lord, with Health and Happiness.
In kind Compassion grant this gracious Boon,
Yet not my Will, but Thine alone be done.
| Poems on Several Occasions | |