To thee, oh God! thy suppliant lifts…

To thee, oh God! thy suppliant lifts his eyes, To thee Supreme, Omnipotent and Just; On thee alone for succour he relies, And in thy goodness places all his trust. Teach me, with patience, meekly to submit To whatsoe'er thy wisdom judges best; To say, with humble Job—the Lord thinks fit, "Giving or taking let his name be blest."

SURE 'tis a serious thing to die! My soul, What a strange moment must it be, when near Thy journey's end, thou hast the gulph in view! That awful gulph, no mortal e'er repass'd, To tell what's doing on the other side.

THE wretch, condemn'd with life to part, Still, still on hope relies; And ev'ry pang that rends the heart, Bids expectation rise. Hope, like the glim'ring taper's light, Adorns and cheers the way; And still, as darker grows the night, Emits a brighter ray.