Supported by thy care,

Through burning climes I pass’d unhurt,

And breathed in tainted air.

In midst of dangers, fears, and death,

Thy goodness I’ll adore;

And praise thee for thy mercies past,

And humbly hope for more.

Addison.

With grief opprest, and prostrate in the dust,

Shouldst Thou condemn, I own thy sentence just.