So prays your Clerk with all his heart,

And ere he quits the pen,

Begs you for once to take his part,
And answer all....Amen!

1788.

Quod adest, memento

Componere æquus; cætera fluminis

Ritu feruntur.

HORACE.

Improve the present Hour, for all beside

Is a mere Feather on a Torrent's Tide.

COULD I, from Heav'n inspir'd, as sure presage To whom the rising Year shall prove his last; As I can number in my punctual Page,

And Item down the Victims of the past;

How each would trembling wait the mournful Sheet,
On which the Press might stamp him next to die ;
And, reading here his Sentence, how replete
With anxious meaning, Heav'n-ward turn his Eye!

Time, then, would seem more precious than the Joys In which he sports away the Treasure now;

And Pray'r, more seasonable than the Noise
Of Drunkards, or the Music-drawing Bow.

Then, doubtless, many a Trifler on the Brink
Of this World's hazardous and headlong Shore,
Forc'd to a Pause, would feel it good to think,
Told that his setting Sun must rise no more.

Ah self-deceiv'd! Could I, prophetic, say,
Who next is fated, and who next, to fall,
The Rest might then seem privileg'd to play;
But, naming none, the Voice now speaks to ALL.

Observe the dappled Foresters, how light
They bound and airy o'er the sunny Glade....
One falls....the Rest wide scatter'd with affright,
Vanish at once into the darkest Shade.

Had we their Wisdom, should we often warn'd,
Still need repeated warnings, and at last,
A thousand awful admonitions scorn'd,
Die self-accus'd of life all run to waste?

Sad waste for which no after-thrift atones :
The grave admits no cure for guilt or sin.
Dew-drops may deck the turf that hides the bones,
But tears of godly grief ne'er flow within.

Learn then, ye living! by the mouths be taught Of all these sepulchres, instructors true,

That, soon or late, Death also is your

lot,

And the next op'ning grave may yawn for you.

1789.

-Placidaq; ibi demum morte quievit.

VIRG.

There calm, at length, he breath'd his soul away.

"OH most delightful hour by man

66 Experienc'd here below,

"The hour that terminates his span,

"His folly, and his woe!

Worlds should not bribe me back to tread,

Again life's dreary waste,

“To see again my Day o'erspread

"With all the gloomy Past.

"My Home henceforth is in the skies,
"Earth, Seas, and Sun adieu!
"All Heav'n unfolded to my eyes,
"I have no sight for you."

So spake Aspasio, firm possess'd
Of Faith's supporting rod,

Then breath'd his soul into its rest,
The bosom of his God.

He was a man, among the few,

Sincere on Virtue's side;

And all his strength from Scripture drew, To hourly use apply'd.

That rule he priz'd, by what he fear'd,
He hated, hop'd, and lov'd;
Nor ever frown'd, or sad appcar'd,

But when his heart had rov'd.

For he was frail as thou or I,
And evil felt within;

But when he felt it, heav'd a sigh,
And leath'd the thought of Sin.

Such liv'd Aspasio; and, at last,
Call'd up from Earth to Heav'n,
The gulph of Death triumphant pass'd,
By gales of blessing driv'n.

His joys be mine, each Reader cries,
When my last hour arrives!

They shall be yours, my Verse replies,
Such ONLY be your lives.

1790.

Ne commonentem recta sperne.

BUCHANNAN.

Despise not my good counsel.

HE who sits from day to day,
Where the prison'd lark is hung,
Heedless of his loudest lay,

Hardly knows that he has sung.

Where the watchman in his round
Nightly lifts his voice on high,
None, accustom'd to the sound,
Wakes the sooner for his cry.

So your Verse-man I, and Clerk,
Yearly in my song proclaim
Death at hand...yourselves his mark...
And the foe's unerring aim.

Duly at my time I come,

Publishing to all aloud...

Soon the grave must be your home,
And your only suit, a shroud.

But the monitory strain,

Oft repeated in your ears,