Whose load my soul with anguish bears, I sigh, I weep: accept my tears.
Thou who wert moved with Mary's grief, And, by absolving of the thief,
Hast given me hope, now give relief.
Reject not my unworthy prayer;
Preserve me from that dangerous snare
Which death and gaping hell prepare.
Give my exalted soul a place
Among thy chosen right-hand race,
The sons of God, and heirs of
From that insatiable abyss,
Where flames devour and serpents hiss,
Promote me to thy seat of bliss.
Prostrate my contrite heart I rend,
My God, my Father, and my Friend;
Do not forsake me in my end.
Well may they curse their second breath,
Who rise to a reviving death:
Thou great Creator of mankind,
Let guilty man compassion find!
Isaac Walton.
Born 1593. Died 1683.
I IN these flowery meads would be:
These crystal streams should solace me;
To whose harmonious bubbling noise.
I with my angle would rejoice,
Sit here, and see the turtle-dove
Court his chaste mate to acts of love:
Or, on that bank, feel the west wind
Breathe health and plenty please my mind,
To see sweet dewdrops kiss these flowers,
And then washed off by April showers;
Here, hear my Kenna sing a song :
There, see a blackbird feed her young,
Or a laverock build her nest:
Here, give my weary spirits rest,
And raise my low-pitched thoughts above
Earth, or what poor mortals love:
Thus, free from lawsuits and the noise
Of princes' courts, I would rejoice;
Or, with my Bryan and a book,
Loiter long days near Shawford brook;
There sit by him, and eat my meat,
There see the sun both rise and set:
There bid good morning to next day;
There meditate my time away;
And angle on; and beg to have
A quiet passage to a welcome grave.
John Langhorne.
Born 1735. Died 1779.
LIGHT of the world, Immortal mind;
Father of all the human kind!
Whose boundless eye, that knows no rest,
Intent on Nature's ample breast,
Explores the space of earth and skies
And sees eternal incense rise!
To thee my humble voice I raise;
Forgive, while I presume to praise.
Though thou this transient being gave,
That shortly sinks into the grave;
Yet 'twas thy goodness still to give
A being that can think and live;
In all thy works thy wisdom see,
And stretch its towering mind to thee,
To thee my humble voice I raise;
Forgive, while I presume to praise.
And still this poor contracted span,
This life, that bears the name of man,
From thee derives its vital ray,
Eternal source of life and day!
Thy bounty still the sunshine pours,
That gilds its morn and evening hours.
To thee my humble voice I raise;
Forgive, while I presume to praise.
Through error's maze, through folly's night,
The lamp of reason lends me light;
Where stern affliction waves her rod,
My heart confides in thee, my God!
When nature shrinks, oppressed with woes,
E'en then she finds in thee repose.
To thee my humble voice I raise ;
Forgive, while I presume to praise.
Affliction flies, and hope returns;
Her lamp with brighter splendour burns ;
Gay love, with all his smiling train,
And peace and joy are here again.
These, these, I know, 't was thine to give;
I trusted, and, behold, I live!
To thee my humble voice I raise;
Forgive, while I presume to praise.
Oh, may I still thy favour prove!
Still grant me gratitude and love.
Let truth and virtue guard my heart;
Nor peace, nor hope, nor joy depart :
But yet,
whate'er my life may be,
My heart shall still repose on thee !
To thee my humble voice I raise ;
Forgive, while I presume to praise.
James Merrick.
`Born 1720. Died 1769.
PLACED on the verge of youth, my mind
Life's opening scene surveyed;
I viewed its ills of various kind,
Afflicted and afraid.
But chief my fear the dangers moved,
That Virtue's path enclose:
My heart the wise pursuit approved,
But oh! what toils oppose.
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