ON THE AUTHOR'S BIRTH-DAY

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.