A Hymn of thanks.
On my recovery from the Small-Pox.
I
My God, my great deliv'rer, and my trust,
My life, my love, and ev'ry tender name
That makes my gratitude and homage just;
Let heav'nly ardor all my soul enflame!
II
To thee, my muse, some tuneful gift would bring,
And humbly consecrate her noblest verse;
Fain would she touch, for thee, her sweetest string,
And in immortal strains thy love rehearse.
III
But, oh! what words of men can reach the theme?
What human eloquence express thy praise?
Immense thy pow'r, unspeakable thy name,
Thy throne surrounded with majestic rays.
IV
Yet let my grateful zeal accepted prove,
Since weak mortality can give no more;
I cannot speak, 'tis true, but I can love,
I love, and what I cannot praise, adore.
