"LET ME KNOW THE NUMBER OF MY DAYS."

DAVID.

TELL me, O great All-knowing God!

What period

Hast thou unto my days assign'd?

Like some old leafless tree, shall I

Wither away, or violently

Fall by the axe, by lightning, or the wind?

Here, where I first drew vital breath,
Shall I meet death?

And find in the same vault a room
Where my forefathers' ashes sleep?
Or shall I die, where none shall weep
My timeless fate, and my cold earth entomb?

Shall I 'gainst the swift Parthians fight,
And in their flight

Receive my death? Or shall I see
That envied peace, in which we are
Triumphant yet, disturb'd by war,
And perish by the invading enemy?

Astrologers, who calculate
Uncertain fate,

Affirm my scheme doth not presage
Any abridgment of my days:
And the physician gravely says,
I may enjoy a reverent length of age.

But they are jugglers, and by sleight
Of art the sight

Of faith delude; and in their school

They only practise how to make
A mystery of each mistake,

And teach strange words credulity to fool.

For thou, who first didst motion give,
Whereby things live,

And time hath being, to conceal
Future events, didst think it fit
To check the ambition of our wit,
And keep in awe the curious search of zeal.

Therefore, so I prepar'd still be,

My God, for thee,

O' th' sudden on my spirits may
Some killing apoplexy seize,
Or let me by a dull disease,

Or weaken'd by a feeble age, decay.

And so I in thy favour die,

No memory

For me a well-wrought tomb prepare :
For if my soul be 'mong the blest,
Though my poor ashes want a chest,
I shall forgive the trespass of my heir.

"NOT UNTO US, O LORD."-DAVID.

No marble statuë, nor high
Aspiring pyramid, be rais'de
To lose its head within the sky:
What claim have I to memory?

God, be thou only prais'd!

Thou in a moment canst defeat
The mighty conquests of the proud,
And blast the laurels of the great:
Thou canst make brightest glory set
O' the sudden in a cloud.

How can the feeble works of art
Hold out 'gainst the assault of storms?
Or how can brass to him impart
Sense of surviving fame, whose heart
Is now resolv'd to worms?

Blind folly of triumphing pride!
Eternity, why build'st thou here ?
Dost thou not see the highest tide
Its humble stream in the ocean hide,
And ne'er the same appear?

That tide which did its banks o'erflow,
As sent abroad by the angry sea,
To level vastest buildings low,
And all our trophies overflow,
Ebbs like a thief away.

And thou, who to preserve thy name,
Leav'st statues in some conquer'd land;
How will posterity scorn fame,

When the idol shall receive a maim,
And lose a foot or hand?

How wilt thou hate thy wars, when he, Who only for his hire did raise

Thy counterfeit in stone, with thee

Shall stand competitor, and be

Perhaps thought worthier praise ?

No laurel wreath about my brow!
To thee, my God, all praise; whose law
The conquer'd doth and conqueror bow!
For both dissolve to air, if thou

Thy influence but withdraw.

"THE GRAVE IS MINE HOUSE."-JOB.

WELCOME, thou safe retreat! Where the injur'd man may fortify

Against the invasions of the great:

Where the lean slave, who the oar doth ply,

Soft as his admiral may lie.

Great statist! 'tis your doom,

Though your designs swell high and wide,
To be contracted in a tomb!

And all your happy cares provide
But for your heir authorized pride.

Nor shall your shade delight
I' the pomp of your proud obsequies:
And should the present flattery write
A glorious epitaph, the wise

Will say, "The poet's wit here lies."

How reconcil'd to fate

Will grow the aged villager,

When he shall see your funeral state!
Since death will him as warm inter
As you in your gay sepulchre.

The great decree of God

Makes every path of mortals lead
To this dark common period:
For by what ways soe'er we tread,
We end our journey 'mong the dead.

Even I, while humble zeal
Makes fancy a sad truth indite,
Insensibly away do steal :

And when I'm lost in death's cold night,
Who will remember, now I write ?

"NIGHT SHOWETH KNOWLEDGE."-DAVID.

WHEN I survey the bright

Celestial sphere,

So rich with jewels hung, that night
Doth like an Ethiop bride appear;

My soul her wings doth spread,
And heavenward flies,

The Almighty's mysteries to read
In the large volumes of the skies.

For the bright firmament
Shoots forth no flame

So silent, but is eloquent
In speaking the Creator's name.

No unregarded star

Contracts its light

Into so small a character,

Remov'd far from our human sight;