TO MY DAUGHTER,

WITH HER FATHER'S "POEMS," &c.

To bid my humble Name

Survive to distant ages,

Enwreath'd by splendid Fame.

Such prouder expectation

May loftier Bards inspire;

A lowlier aspiration

Repays my simple Lyre.

Enough-if it shall give me,

At Memory's sweetest shrine, Thoughts-feelings-to outlive me In hearts belov'd-like thine.

The wreath that crowns a Poet
May wake a transient thrill;

But who would not forego it
For something dearer still?

+

A purer joy is blended

With many a look, and smile, Than e'er from Fame most splendid The bosom can beguile.

Oh! such at times have lighten'd
Like sunshine on my way,
And by their influence brighten'd
Thy Father's darkest day.

I have no FOES,-to set them
As beacons in thy sight;
And if I had,-"Forget them!"
Is all that I would write.

But well

my FRIENDS thou knowest, And blessings rest on Thee! As gratitude thou showest For kindness done to me.

R

A SONG OF PRAISE.

GIVE praises to God! unto Him who first founded The fabric of earth by the word of His Power; Who arch'd the sky's vault, and the Ocean depths sounded,

Gave the day-spring its birthright, and darkness its dower :

Praise praise ye The Lord! and his goodness pro

claim,

Everlasting His mercy, and glorious His Name.

Bend the knee to Jehovah! with humble emotion
Bow down at the throne of the awful I AM!
Be His Spirit the guide in each act of devotion,
And Salvation implor'd through the blood of THE
LAMB!

Pray! pray to The Lord! and His goodness proclaim,

Everlasting His mercy, and glorious His Name.

In spirit and truth draw ye near to that altar
Which God in the depth of each heart would make

known;

Where love cannot languish, and faith cannot falter, But each thought and each feeling are truly his

own:

With prayers and with praises His goodness proclaim, Everlasting His mercy, and glorious His Name!

The above Verses were written for a Collection of Sacred Pieces, with Music; intended to be published by A. Pettit, of Norwich: and are here inserted by his permission.

STANZAS

WRITTEN IN A BLANK LEAF OF KIRKE WHITE'S REMAINS.

"Unhappy White! while life was in its Spring,
And thy young Muse just wav'd her joyous wing,
The spoiler came, and all thy promise fair
Has sought the grave, to rest for ever there."

BYRON.

"UNHAPPY White?"-Expression misapplied!
Who blends unhappiness with thoughts of Thee?
Not Faith, for Faith is more than eagle-eyed,
Beholding what no glance but hers can see:
Not Hope, for hers are glories yet to be

In purer realms, and these she trusts are thine; Not Charity, last, greatest of the three,

For hers is patience that can ne'er repine, Enduring trust in Heaven, and every thought benign.