SERIOUS THOUGHTS.
Make the extended ſkies your tomb:
Let ſtars record your worth:
Yet know, vain mortals, all muſt die,
As nature's ſicklieſt birth.
Would bounteous Heav'n indulge my pray'r,
I frame a nobler choice;
Nor living, wiſh the pompous pue;
Nor dead, regret tbe loſs.
In thy fair book of life divine,
My God, inſcribe my name.
There let it fill ſome humble place,
Beneath the ſlaughter'd Lamb.
Thy ſaints, while ages roll away,
In endleſs fame ſurvive,
Their glories o'er the wrongs of time,
Greatly triumphant, live.
O! That they were wife's ſaid the inſpired penman. It was his laſt wiſh for his dear people: he breathed it out, and gave up the ghoſt.—But what is wiſdom? It conſiſts not in refined ſpeculations, accurate reſearches into nature, or an univerſal acquaintance with hiſtory. The divine Lawgiver ſettles this important point in his next aſpiration: Oh! that they underſtood this!
