He proudly feels each cross event,
While she, poor sinner, is content;
No more she has her stubborn will,
Returns him daily good for ill:
And though her love is still the same,
She loves him with a purer flame.
Oft would she pray the God of grace
His lofty spirit to abase;
Upward his grovelling thoughts to raise,
And teach him humble prayer and praise.
Heaven heard her voice-the youth so gay,
The thoughtless sinner learnt to pray:
Sad sickness too, with pain and smart,
Was sent to soften all his heart.
She follow'd next her husband's bier,
She wip'd his last repenting tear;
She heard him mourn his former pride;
She heard him thank her when he died.
Here, then, in hope of endless life,
Rest both the husband and the wife:
Here too, the babes, whom God hath given,
And such, we trust, shall enter heaven.
TO PERSONS ATTENDING A FUNERAL.
YE mourners who in silent gloom Bear your dear kindred to the tomb, Grudge not when christians go to rest, They sleep in JESUS and are blest. Call then to mind their faith, their love, Their meekness for the realms above;
And if to heaven a saint is fled,
O mourn the living, not the dead:
Weep o'er the thousands that remain
Deep sunk in sin, or rack'd with pain;
Mourn your own crimes and wicked ways,
And learn to number all your days:
Gain wisdom from this mournful stone,
And make this christian's case your own,
SQUIRE DAMOCLES;
A NEW SONG ON AN OLD STORY. Proper to be sung at all Feasts and Merry Makings.
HERE was a heathen man, sir,
Belonging to a king
And still it was his plan, sir,
To covet every thing.
And if you don't believe me,
I'll name him if you please,
For let me not deceive ye,
'Twas one Squire Damocles..
He thought that jolly living
Must every joy afford,
And knew of no misgiving,
While round the festive board.
He wanted to be great, sir,
And feed on fare delicious;
And have his feasts in state, sir,
Just like King Dionysius.
The king, to cure his longing,
Prepar'd'a feast so fine,
That all the court were thronging
To see the courtier dine.
And there to tempt his eye, sir,
Was fish, and flesh, and fowl;
And when he was a-dry, sir,
He had a brimming bowl.
Nor did the king forbid him
From drinking all he could;
The monarch never chid him,
But fill'd him with his food.
O, then, to see the pleasure
Squire Damocles exprest!
'Twas joy beyond all measure;
Was ever man so blest?
With greedy eyes the Squire
Devour'd each costly dainty;
You'd think he did aspire
To eat as much as twenty.
But just as he prepar'd, sir,
Of bliss to take his swing;
O, how the man was scar'd, sir,
By this so cruel king!
When he to eat intended,
Lo! just above his head,
He spied a sword suspended
All by a single thread.
How did it change the feasting
To wormwood and to gall,
To think, while he was tasting,
The pointed sword might fall,
Then in a moment's time, sir,
He loath'd the luscious feast;
And dreaded as a crime, sir,
The brimining bowl to taste.
Now, if you're for applying
The story I have told;
I think there's no denying
'Tis worth it's weight in gold.
Ye who view this stranger,
gay,
And pity his sad case;
And think there was great danger
In such a fearful place;
Come let this awful truth
In all your minds be stor'd;
To each intemperate youth
Death is that pointed sword.
And tho' you see no reason
To check your mirth at all;
In some sad drunken season
The sword on you may fall.
o learn, while at your ease
You drink down draughts delicious;
To think of Damocles,
And old king Dionysius,
MAN THAT IS WORTH A HOST.
BEING A NEW SONG,
By HONEST DAN the Plow-boy, turned Soldier.
WAS a plough-boy tall, sir,
My name was honest Dan;
But at my country's call, sir,
I've turn'd Militia Man.
So on our little green, sir,
Away from all the mire,
I daily now am seen, sir,
To cock, present, and fire..
In regimentals bright, sir,
Of scarlet I do shine,
With hair tied up so tight, sir;
And whiten'd all so fine.
|