VERSES, PRINTED AT THE BOTTOM OF THE YEARLY BILL OF MORTALITY OF THE TOWN OF NORTHAMPTON. Dec. 21, 1787. Pallida Mors æquo pulsat pede pauperum tabernas Pale Death with equal foot strikes wide the door WHILE thirteen moons saw smoothly run All these, life's rambling journey done, Was man (frail always) made more frail No; these were vig'rous as their sires, Like crowded forest trees we stand, VOL. II. The axe will smite at God's command, And soon shall smite us all. Green as the bay-tree, ever green, The gay, the thoughtless have I seen; Read, ye that run, the awful truth, No present health can health insure And oh! that (humble as my lot, These truths, though known, too much forgot, So prays your Clerk, with all his heart; And, ere he quits the pen, Begs you, for once, to take His part, And answer all-Amen! John Cox, Parish Clerk of Northampton. ON A SIMILAR OCCASION. November 5, 1793. Happy the mortal, who has trac'd effects To their First Cause; cast fear beneath his feet; THANKLESS for favours from on high, But he, not wise enough to scan To ages, in a world of pain, To ages, where he goes Gall'd by affliction's heavy chain, And hopeless of repose. Strange fondness of the human heart, Enamour'd of its harm! Strange world, that costs it so much smart, Whence has the world her magic pow'r? Why deem we death a foe? Recoil from weary life's best hour, And covet longer woe? The cause is CONSCIENCE-Conscience oft Her tale of guilt renews : Her voice is terrible though soft, Then, anxious to be longer spar'd, 'Tis judgment shakes him; there's the fear He has incurr❜d a long arrear, Pay! Follow CHRIST, and all is paid : ON A SIMILAR OCCASION. FOR THE YEAR Improve the present hour, for all beside COULD I, from Heav'n inspir'd, as sure presage And item down the victims of the past; How each would trembling wait the mournful sheet, On which the press might stamp him next to die; And, reading here his sentence, how replete With anxious meaning, heav'nward cast his eye. Time then would seem more precious than the joys Then, doubtless, many a trifler, on the brink Of this world's hazardous and headlong shore, Forc'd to a pause, would feel it good to think, Told that his setting sun would rise no more. Ah! self-deceiv'd! could I prophetic say Who next is fated, and who next shall fall, Observe the dappled foresters, how light They bound, and airy, o'er the sunny glade : One falls-the rest, wide scatter'd with affright, Vanish at once into the thickest shade. Had we their wisdom, should we, often warn'd, A thousand awful admonitions scorn'd, Sad waste for which no after thrift atones, admits no cure of guilt or sin; The grave |