A NIGHT-PIECE. Elizabeth Carter Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
Broad Street Oxford OX1 3BG UK
Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T116245 1122 K093079.001 Pearch, G. A collection of poems in four volumes. By several hands. Vol. I. [The second edition]. London printed for G. Pearch 1770 pp. 170-172. 4v. ; 8⁰.

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A NIGHT-PIECE . BY THE SAME . WHILE Night in solemn shade invests the pole , And calm Reflexion soothes the pensive soul ; While Reason undisturb'd asserts her sway , And Life's deceitful colours fade away : To thee ! all-conscious presence ! I devote This peaceful interval of sober thought . Here all my better faculties confine , And be this hour of sacred silence thine . If by the day's illusive scenes misled , My erring soul from Virtue's path has stray'd : Snar'd by example , or by passion warm'd , Some false delight my giddy sense has charm'd , My calmer thoughts the wretched choice reprove , And my best hopes are center'd in thy love . Depriv'd of this , can life one joy afford ! Its utmost boast a vain unmeaning word . But ah ! how oft my lawless passions rove , And break those awful precepts I approve ! Pursue the fatal impulse I abhor , And violate the Virtue I adore ! Oft' when thy better spirit's guardian care Warm'd my fond soul to shun the tempting snare , My stubborn Will his gentle aid represt . And check'd the rising Goodness in my breast , Mad with vain hopes , or urg'd by false desires , Still'd his soft voice , and quench'd his sacred fires . With grief opprest , and prostrate in the dust , Shouldst thou condemn , I own the sentence just . But oh ! thy softer titles let me claim , And plead my cause by Mercy's gentle name . Mercy , that wipes the penitential tear , And dissipates the horrors of Despair : From rigorous Justice steals the vengeful hour ; Softens the dreadful attribute of Power ; Disarms the wrath of an offended God , And seals my pardon in a Saviour's blood . All-powerful Grace , exert thy gentle sway , And teach my rebel passions to obey : Lest lurking Folly with insidious art Regain my volatile inconstant heart . Shall every high resolve Devotion frames , Be only lifeless sounds and specious names ? O rather while thy hopes and fears controul , In this still hour each motion of my soul , Secure its safety by a sudden doom , And be the soft retreat of Sleep my tomb . Calm let me slumber in that dark repose , Till the last morn its orient beam disclose : Then , when the great Archangel's potent sound Shall echo thro' Creation's ample round , Wak'd from the sleep of death with joy survey The opening splendors of eternal day .