A table thou hast spread
In presence of my foes;
With oil thou hast perfumed my head,
My cup nigh overflows
Through all my life, O Lord,
Of mercy will I tell,
And in thy favored house, my God,
Forever shall I dwell.
This is a production that has been often excelled; but, to at least one listener, its tones are sweetened and deepened by the boyish sincerity of the singer.
The strength of his faith and the fervor of his affections, united to the degree of talent for metrical expression that nature gave him, very likely would have made him a good hymn-writer if he had given his powers exercise and culture with that object in view. Writing for the public, however, either in prose or verse, seems never to have been a purpose in his mind until he had actually done it. When he commenced writing prose compositions, it seemed to be on the general principle that boys ought to improve their faculties, but without any definite notion in regard to the particular manner in which, in manhood, he should employ his, other than his intention of being a printer.