Thus lowly bending on my parent earth,
I view with tears the day that gave me birth;
Since I had power to think I ne'er could find
Myself of any service to mankind;
Tho' oft this vain, this giddy foolish heart,
For others griefs does most severely smart;
And yet I ne'er found means, or never could,
But this I know, I never did them good.
Me whom the iron hand of fate does press,
Tho' most familiar, never felt the less;
Scorn'd by those friends with whom I once could vie,
Without one kind companion doom'd to sigh,
I feel new causes, each succeeding morn,
To mourn the day when such a wretch was born.
But O! Almighty Father! if I dare
To left my eyes to thee, accept this prayer;
Let ne'er ambition fire my youthful breast,
Nor earthly trifles rob my soul of rest.
May I ne'er heave a sigh for dirty pelf,
Or any thing that but concerns myself,
Unless my sins: O! may they be forgiv'n,
And all my happiness be plac'd in heav'n!
O might I be enabled to relieve
The wants, and sooth the cares of those that grieve;
I'd view my birth-day with a heart elate,
And leave the world without the least regret.