STANZAS SUBJOINED TO THE YEARLY BILL OF MORTALITY OF THE PARISH OF ALL-SAINTS, NORTHAMPTON1, ANNO DOMINI 1787. Pallida Mors æquo pulsat pede pauperum tabernas, HORACE. Pale Death with equal foot strikes wide the door WHILE thirteen moons saw smoothly run All these, life's rambling journey done, Was man (frail always) made more frail Did famine or did plague prevail, No; these were vigorous as their sires, Like crowded forest-trees we stand, Green as the bay tree, ever green, The gay, the thoughtless, have I seen, Read, ye that run, the aweful truth A worm is in the bud of youth, 1 Composed for John Cox, parish clerk of Northampton. No present health can health insure No medicine, though it oft can cure, And oh that humble as my lot, These truths, though known, too much forgot, So prays your Clerk with all his heart, And, ere he quits the pen, Begs you for once to take his part, COULD I, from Heaven inspired, as sure presage How each would trembling wait the mournful sheet On which the press might stamp him next to die; And, reading here his sentence, how replete With anxious meaning, heavenward turn his eye! Time then would seem more precious than the joys And prayer more seasonable than the noise Then doubtless many a trifler, on the brink Of this world's hazardous and headlong shore, Forced to a pause, would feel it good to think, Told that his setting sun must rise no more. Ah self-deceived! Could I prophetic say Who next is fated, and who next to fall, The rest might then seem privileged to play; But, naming none, the Voice now speaks to all. Observe the dappled foresters, how light They bound and airy o'er the sunny glade; One falls the rest, wide scatter'd with affright, Vanish at once into the darkest shade. Had we their wisdom, should we, often warn'd, Sad waste! for which no after-thrift atones! Learn then, ye living! by the mouths be taught That, soon or late, death also is your lot, ON A SIMILAR OCCASION, FOR THE YEAR 1789. -Placidaque ibi demum morte quievit. VIRG. There calm at length he breathed his soul away. "Worlds should not bribe me back to tread Again life's dreary waste, To see again my day o'erspread "My home henceforth is in the skies, I have no sight for you.' So spake Aspasio, firm possess'd He was a man among the few Sincere on virtue's side; And all his strength from Scripture drew, That rule he prized, by that he fear'd, Nor ever frown'd, or sad appear'd, But when his heart had roved. For he was frail as thou or I, But when he felt it, heaved a sigh, Such lived Aspasio; and at last His joys be mine, each Reader cries, They shall be yours, my verse replies, ON A SIMILAR OCCASION, FOR THE YEAR 1790. Ne commonentem recta sperne. BUCHANAN. Despise not my good counsel. He who sits from day to day Hardly knows that he has sung. So your verse-man I, and Clerk, Death at hand-yourselves his mark- Duly at my time I come, Publishing to all aloud, Soon the grave must be your home, And your only suit a shroud. But the monitory strain, Oft repeated in your ears, Can a truth, by all confess'd Of such magnitude and weight, Grow, by being oft impress'd, Trivial as a parrot's prate? Pleasure's call attention wins, Hear it often as we may ; New as ever seem our sins, |