The author of my frame hath it sustain'd.
This morning's light my waiting vision gain'd
With thankful joy. What multitudes are dead,—
The earth twice emptied,—since on infant's bed
My blood began to run in circuits train'd?—
Destroying angel who but God restrain'd?
The past how doom'd hereafter will be read:
I pray the Lord from heav'n, for me who died,
Me to assist the future so to spend
Becoming one to Him by faith allied;—