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AT A REVEREND FRIEND'S HOUSE ONE NIGHT,
THE AUTHOR LEFT THE FOLLOWING
IN THE ROOM WHERE HE SLEPT.
O thou dread Pow'r, who reign’st above !
I know thou wilt me hear :
I make my pray'r sincere.
The hoary sire—the mortal stroke,
Long, long, be pleas'd to spare! To bless his little filial flock,
And show what good men are.
She, who her lovely offspring eyes
With tender hopes and fears, O bless her with a mother's joys,
But spare a mother's tears !
Their hope, their stay, their darling youth,
In manhood's dawning blush;
Up to a parent's wish:
The beauteous, seraph sister-band,
With earnest tears I pray,
Guide thou their steps alway!
When soon or late they reach that coast,
O’er life's rough ocean driv’n, May they rejoice, no wand'rer lost,
A family in Heav'n!
The man, in life wherever plac'd,
Hath happiness in store, Who walks not in the wicked's way,
Nor learns their guilty lore!
Nor from the seat of scornful pride
Casts forth his eyes abroad, But with humility and awe
Still walks before his God.
That man shall flourish like the trees
Which by the streamlets grow; The fruitful top is spread on high,
And firm the root below.