YOUR subjects hope, dread Sire-- The crown upon your brows may flourish long, And that your arm may in your God be strong! O may your sceptre num'rous nations sway, And all with love and readiness obey! But how shall we the British king reward! Rule thou in peace, our father, and our lord! Midst the remembrance of thy favours past, The meanest peasants most admire the last* May George, beloved by all the nations round, Live with heav'ns choicest constant blessings crown'd! Great God, direct, and guard him from on high, And from his head let ev'ry evil fly! And may each clime with equal gladness see A monarch's smile can set his subjects free! * The Repeal of the Stamp Act. On being brought from Africa to America. 'TWAS mercy brought me from my Pagan land, Taught my benighted soul to understand That there's a God, that there's a Saviour too: Once I redemption neither sought nor knew, Some view our sable race with scornful eye, "Their colour is a diabolic die." Remember, Christians, Negroes, black as Cain, May be refin'd, and join th' angelic train. On the Death of the Rev. Dr. SEWELL, 1769. ERE yet the morn its lovely blushes spread, See Sewell number'd with the happy dead. Hail, holy man, arriv'd th' immortal shore, Though we shall hear thy warning voice no more. Come, let us all behold with wishful eyes The saint ascending to his native skies; From hence the prophet wing'd his rapt'rous way To the blest mansions in eternal day. Then begging for the Spirit of our God, And panting eager for the same abode, Come, let us all with the same vigour rise, And take a prospect of the blissful skies; While on our minds Christ's image is imprest, And the dear Saviour glows in ev'ry breast. Thrice happy saint! to find thy heav'n at last, What compensation for the evils past! Great God, incomprehensible, unknown By sense, we bow at thine exalted throne. O, while we beg thine excellence to feel, Thy sacred Spirit to our hearts reveal, And give us of that mercy to partake, Which thou hast promis'd for the Saviour's sake! "Sewell is dead." Swift-pinion'd Fame thus cry'd. "Is Sewell dead," my trembling tongue reply'd, O what a blessing in his flight deny'd! How oft for us the holy prophet pray'd! How oft to us the Word of Life convey'd! By duty urg'd my mournful verse to close, I for his tomb this epitaph compose. "Lo, here a man, redeem'd by Jesus's blood, "A sinner once, but now a saint with God; "Behold ye rich, ye poor, ye fools, ye wise, "Not let his monument your heart surprise; "Twill tell you what this holy man has done, "Which gives him brighter lustre than the sun. "Listen, ye happy, from your seats above. "I speak sincerely, while I speak and love, "He sought the paths of piety and truth, "By these made happy from his early youth; "In blooming years that grace divine he felt,