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Ah! wherefore should this feeble hand Essay again to strike the lyre; No cherish'd friendship shall the lay demand, Responsive to the wire;No seraph-voice of love, or friendship dear,Shall steal, like strains from heav'n, upon mine ear.
STANZAS.
O'er the rough path, through this dark vale of tears, Trembling, and faint, my weary way I wend;While disappointed hopes, and cares, and fears, A mournful train, upon my steps attend.
No guardian hand to lead my wand'ring feet From fatal error's wide and wild'ring way;No gentle voice, in accents soft and sweet, To warn my heart of passion's dangerous sway.
No sympathizing breast, to which my soul May cling for comfort, when distress is nigh;—But, ah! forbear!—each fruitless wish controul— Patience and faith suppress each rising sigh.
Fountain of life, oh! everlasting God! Forgive the murmurs I have dar'd to make;I feel thy justice, kiss thy chast'ning rod, Nor hope for mercy, but for Jesus' sake.
