And for the richest crown on Earth, If valu'd by it's wearer's worth, The symbol of a righteous reign Sat fast on George's brows again. Then peace and joy again possess'd Our Queen's long-agitated breast; Such joy and peace as can be known By suff'rers like herself alone, Who losing, or supposing lost The good on Earth they valu'd most, For that dear sorrow's sake forego All hope of happiness below, Then suddenly regain the prize, And flash thanksgivings to the skies! O Queen of Albion, queen of isles! Since all thy tears were chang'd to smiles, The eyes, that never saw thee, shine With joy not unallied to thine, Transports not chargeable with art Illume the land's remotest part, And strangers to the air of courts, Both in their toils and at their sports, The happiness of answer'd pray'rs, That gilds thy features, show in theirs. If they, who on thy state attend, Of grandeur that ensures respect; HYMN, FOR THE USE OF THE SUNDAY SCHOOL AT OLNEY, HEAR, Lord, the song of praise and pray'r, In Heav'n thy dwelling place, From infants made the public care, And taught to seek thy face. Thanks for thy word, and for thy day, Never to waste in sinful play Thanks that we hear,-but O impart To each desires sincere, That we may listen with our heart, And learn as well as hear. For if vain thoughts the minds engage Of older far than we, What hope, that, at our heedless age, Our minds should e'er be free? Much hope, if thou our spirits take Who canst the wisest wiser make, Wisdom and bliss thy word bestows, A sun that ne'er declines, And be thy mercies show'r'd on those, Who plac'd us where it shines. STANZAS Subjoined to the Yearly Bill of Mortality of the Parish of ALL-SAINTS, NORTHAMPTON*, Anno Domini 1787. Pallida Mors æquo pulsat pede pauperum tabernas, Regumque turres. HORACE. Pale Death with equal foot strikes wide the door WHILE thirteen moons saw smoothly run All these, life's rambling journey done, Was man (frail always) made more frail Than in foregoing years? Did famine or did plague prevail, That so much death appears? * Composed for John Cox, parish clerk of Northampton. No; these were vig'rous as their sires Like crowded forest-trees we stand, Green as the bay-tree, ever green, The gay, the thoughtless, have I seen, Read, ye that run, the awful truth No present health ean health insure For yet an hour to come; No medicine, though it oft can cure, |