While, Iris, I at distance gaze,
And feed my greedy eyes,
That wounded heart, that dyes for you,
Dull gazing can't suffice;
Hope is the Food of Love-sick minds,
On that alone 'twill Feast,
The nobler part which Loves refines,
No other can digest.
In vain, too nice and Charming Maid,
I did suppress my Cares;
In vain my rising sighs I stay'd,
And stop'd my falling tears;
The Flood would swell, the Tempest rise,
As my despair came on;
When from her Lovely cruel Eyes,
I found I was undone.
Yet at your feet while thus I lye,
And languish by your Eyes,
'Tis far more glorious here to dye,
Than gain another Prize.
Here let me sigh, here let me gaze,
And wish at least to find
As raptur'd nights, and tender days,
As he to whom you're kind.
A PARAPHRASE on the LORDS PRAYER. By Mrs. A. B.
OUR FATHER,
O Wondrous condescention of a God!
To poor unworthy sinful flesh and blood;
Lest the high Mistery of Divinity,
Thy sacred Title, shou'd too Awful be;
Lest trembling prostrates should not freely come,
As to their Parent, to their native home;
Lest Thy incomprehensible God-head shou'd
Not by dull Man; be rightly understood;
Thou deignst to take a name, that fits our sense,
Yet lessens not Thy glorious Excellence.
WHICH ART IN HEAVEN,
Thy Mercy ended not, when thou didst own
Poor lost and out-cast Man to be thy Son;
'Twas not enough the Father to dispense,
In Heaven thou gav'st us an Inheritance;
A Province, where thou'st deign'd each Child a share;
Advance, my tim'rous Soul, thou needst not fear,
Thou hast a God! a God and Father! there.
HALLOWED BE THY NAME,
For ever be it, may my Pious Verse,
That shall thy great and glorious name rehearse,
By singing Angels still repeated be,
And tune a Song that may be worthy thee;
While all the Earth with Ecchoing Heav'n shall joyn,
To Magnifie a Being so Divine.
THY KINGDOM COME,