And in the fourteenth, weary, enter’d am at last.
While rocks, sands, storms, and leakes to take my bark away,
By grief, troubles, sorrows, sikness did essay;
And yet arriv’d I am not at the port of death,
The port to everlasting life that openeth.
My time uncertain, Lord, long certain cannot be,
What’s best to me’s unknown and only known to thee,
O by repentance and amendment grant that I
May still live in thy fear and in thy favor dye.
The prospects from the church-yard are extremely pleasing, and justly merit the eulogium of one of our modern poets: