When soon or late they reach that coast, THE FIRST PSALM. THE man, in life wherever plac'd, Who walks not in the wicked's way, Nor from the seat of scornful pride That man shall flourish like the trees But he, whose blossom buds in guilt, For why? that God the good adore A PRAYER, UNDER THE PRESSURE OF VIOLENT O THOU Great Being! what Thou art Yet sure I am, that known to Thee Are all Thy works below. March, 1784. 1 There was a certain period of my life that my spirit was broke by repeated losses and disasters, which threatened, and indeed effected, the utter ruin of my fortune. My body too was attacked by that most dreadful disorder, a hypochondria, or confirmed melancholy. In this wretched state, the recollection of which makes me yet shudder, I hung my harp on the willow trees, except in some lucid intervals, in one of which I composed the following.-R. B. Thy creature here before Thee stands, Yet sure those ills that wring my soul Sure, Thou, Almighty, canst not act O, free my weary eyes from tears, But if I must afflicted be, To suit some wise design; Then man my soul with firm resolves THE FIRST SIX VERSES OF THE NINETIETH PSALM. O THOU, the first, the greatest friend Of all the human race! Whose strong right hand has ever been Before the mountains heav'd their heads Before this pond'rous globe itself, That pow'r, which rais'd and still upholds From countless, unbeginning time Those mighty periods of years, Which seem to us so vast, Appear no more before Thy sight Thou giv'st the word; Thy creature, man, Again Thou say'st, "Ye sons of men, Thou layest them, with all their cares, As with a flood thou tak'st them off They flourish like the morning flow'r, But long ere night cut down, it lies |