The Dying Profligate.

OH where can there — can there be
 Comfort for a wretch like me? 
If I inward take a view
 Conscience there I meet with you,
 There my sins in order rise,
 Ghastly forms before my eyes,
 Lust, oppression, falshood, pride,
 And unnumber'd crimes beside;
 If I upward dare to look,
 There's the God, whose laws I broke,
 Whose stern justice, once my jest,
 Points its lightnings at my breast;
 If I forward cast my eye,
 There I see destruction nigh,
 While I, from the brink of death,
 Trembling view the Hell beneath. 
 "Gay companions, once so dear,
 Who so oft my heart cou'd chear,
 Have your tales and songs no power
 To relieve this dreadful hour? 
Innate courage, can'st not thou
 Aid my sinking spirits now? 
No — in vain — in vain I call,
 Wretched comforts are ye all. 
Death approaches — his stern brow
 Threats the fearful ruin now:
 King of terrors, O forbear,
 Hear for once a mortal's pray'r;
 Stay thy hand, some respite give,
 Grant me but a short reprieve,
 Ere thy fatal arrow fly,
 Let, oh let me learn to die." 
Hope, on which the wretched live,
 Hope perhaps may yet revive,
 And as the ruling midnight star
 Cheers the lonely mariner,
 Points him to the happy strand,
 Where in safety he may land,
 May direct me which way lies
 The fair coast of Paradise. 
Jesus, who reigns above the sky,
 Did on earth for mortals die,
 He may yet compassion feel,
 And my pardon yet may seal;
 But oh I dread, I more than fear,
 Even Jesus will not hear. 
Now his blood for vengeance cries,
 That blood which oft I did despise;
 Vengeance hears, nor will delay;
 Mercy — I have sinn'd away;
 Her sweet voice I hear no more,
 My sins too late I now deplore. 
Oh the sad distressing thought! 
Fain I'd hope — but know not what;
 All my soul's in tempest lost,
 All in wild confusion's tost,
 "But oh now
 I feel the moment come,
 Now I go to meet my doom,
 Now I plunge I know not where,
 Horror all, and black despair."