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The pitying heart that felt for human wo;

The dauntless heart that feared no human

pride;

The friend of man, to vice alone a foe;

"For even his failings leaned to virtue's side."1

A PRAYER IN THE PROSPECT OF
DEATH.

In the course of the summer 1784, the health of the poet gave way to a serious extent. The movements of the heart were affected, and he became liable to fainting fits, particularly in the night-time. The youthful bard, feeling that death hovered over him, and reflecting with compunction on the errors partly involved in the cause of his malady, was for a time under very serious impressions. He at this time wrote what he calls in his Commonplace-book “a Prayer when fainting fits and other alarming symptoms of a pleurisy, or some other dangerous disorder which still threatens me, first put nature on the alarm." It was subsequently published under the more simple title of A Prayer in the Prospect of Death.

OH thou unknown, Almighty Cause
Of all my hope and fear!

1 Goldsmith.

In whose dread presence, ere an hour,
Perhaps I must appear!

If I have wandered in those paths
Of life I ought to shun,

As something, loudly, in my breast,
Remonstrates I have done;

Thou know'st that Thou hast formed me
With passions wild and strong;
And listening to their witching voice
Has often led me wrong.

Where human weakness has come short,
Or frailty stept aside,

Do thou, All-good! for such thou art,

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Ja shades of darkness hide.

Where with intention I have erred,

No other plea I have,

But, Thou art good; and goodness still
Delighteth to forgive.

STANZAS ON THE SAME OCCASION.

WHY am I loth to leave this earthly scene? Have I so found it full of pleasing charms?

Some drops of joy with draughts of ill be

tween:

Some gleams of sunshine 'mid renewing

storms:

Is it departing pangs my soul alarms?

Or death's unlovely, dreary, dark abode? For guilt, for guilt, my terrors are in arms; I tremble to approach an angry God, And justly smart beneath his sin-avenging rod.

Fain would I say, "Forgive my foul offence!"
Fain promise never more to disobey;
But should my Author health again dispense,
Again I might desert fair Virtue's way:
Again in Folly's path might go astray;

Again exalt the brute, and sink the man; "Then how should I for heavenly mercy pray, Who act SO counter heavenly mercy's plan?

Who sin so oft have mourned, yet to temptation ran?

Oh Thou, great Governor of all below!
If I may dare a lifted eye to Thee,
Thy nod can make the tempest cease to
blow,

Or still the tumult of the raging sea: With that controlling power assist even me Those headlong furious passions to confine;

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For all unfit I feel my powers to be,

To rule their torrent in the allowed line; Oh, aid me with Thy help, Omnipotence Divine ! 1

THE FIRST PSALM.

To the same period I am disposed to refer two translations of psalms, which appeared in the Edinburgh edition of his poems.

THE man, in life wherever placed,

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.

1 In Mr. Dick's MS. is apparently an earlier copy of this poem, containing some variations expressive of deeper contrition than what here appears. After "Again I might desert fair Virtue's way," comes, " Again by passion would be led astray." The second line of the last stanza is, "If one so black with crimes dare on thee call."

But he whose blossom buds in guilt,
Shall to the ground be cast,
And, like the rootless stubble, tost
Before the sweeping blast.

For why? that God the good adore
Hath given them peace and rest,
But hath decreed that wicked men
Shall ne'er be truly blest.

THE FIRST SIX VERSES OF THE NINETIETH PSALM.

ОH Thou, the first, the greatest friend
Of all the human race!

Whose strong right hand has ever been
Their stay and dwelling-place!

Before the mountains heaved their heads

Beneath thy forming hand,

Before this ponderous globe itself

Arose at Thy command;

That Power which raised and still upholds

This universal frame,

From countless, unbeginning time,

Was ever still the same.

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