Oh! heavy news! must I no longer stay? How shall I stand in the great judgment-day? [Down from her eyes the crystal tears did flow: She said], None knows what I do undergo: Upon my bed of sorrow here I lie; My carnal life makes me afraid to die. My sins, alas! are many, gross and foul, Oh, righteous Lord! have mercy on my soul! And though I do deserve thy righteous frown, Yet pardon, Lord, and pour a blessing down. [Then with a dying sigh her heart did break, And did the pleasures of this world forsake.] * * * * * Thus may we see the high and mighty fall, For cruel Death shows no respect at all To any one of high or low degree Great men submit to Death as well as we. Though they are gay, their life is but a span— A lump of clay—so vile a creature’s man. Then happy those whom Christ has made his care, Who die in the Lord, and ever blessèd are. The grave’s the market-place where all men meet, Both rich and poor, as well as small and great. If life were merchandise that gold could buy, The rich would live, the poor alone would die. ENGLAND’S ALARM; OR THE PIOUS CHRISTIAN’S SPEEDY CALL TO REPENTANCE For the many aggravating sins too much practised in our present mournful times: as Pride, Drunkenness, Blasphemous Swearing, together with the Profanation of the Sabbath; concluding with the sin of wantonness and disobedience; that upon our hearty sorrow and forsaking the same the Lord may save us for his mercy’s sake. [FROM the cluster of ‘ornaments’ alluded to in the ninth verse of the following poem, we are inclined to fix the date about 1653. The present reprint is from an old broadside, without printer’s name or date, in possession of Mr. J. R. Smith.] YOU sober-minded christians now draw near, Labour to learn these pious lessons here; For by the same you will be taught to know What is the cause of all our grief and woe. We have a God who sits enthroned above; He sends us many tokens of his love: Yet we, like disobedient children, still Deny to yield submission to His will. The just command which He upon us lays, We must confess we have ten thousand ways Transgressed; for see how men their sins pursue, As if they did not fear what God could do. Behold the wretched sinner void of shame, He values not how he blasphemes the name Of that good God who gave him life and breath, And who can strike him with the darts of death! The very little children which we meet, Amongst the sports and pastimes in the street, We very often hear them curse and swear, Before they’ve learned a word of any prayer. ’Tis much to be lamented, for I fear The same they learn from what they daily hear; Be careful then, and don’t instruct them so, For fear you prove their dismal overthrow.