friend;
When at the Chapel, do not cast away,
By inattention what the Chaplain say:
It's pure Religion cheers each good man's heart,
And will in time its blessings soon impart;
Such as perhaps you never knew before,
And doubtless will your peace of mind restore.
The Bible read when in your dismal cell,
Read it attentive, ere you bid farewell;
To him who may companion with you be;
Your soul that night may be required of thee.
A scene I witnessed, and not long time since,
Would stop the errors of an hardened prince;
Three men were sentenc'd by the law to die,
To hear them mourn, to see the drooping eye;
Would cause sensations of a painful kind,
While anxious cares oppress the tortur'd mind.
A pious Chaplain strove, to bring in view,
The proffer'd pardon if repentants true.
He said that God was merciful and just,
To implore forgiveness, on his word to trust;
There is a record where the scripture say,
Those that repent he will not cast away;
A sigh or tear cannot that boon impart,
It must be fervent from the head and heart:
Thro' Jesus' aid vile sinners doth he save,
If true repentants, ere they meet the grave.
Each wish'd they could recal, the time that's past,
And they would live as if each day the last:
Just before death, they pray'd me to implore,
An erring mortal to transgress no more;
Hope their lov'd Chaplain might for ever be
When call'd on high, blessed to eternity;
They knew his worth his heart is of a kind,
That plants soft pity to a feeling mind;
Deeker as Chaplain, few can e'er excel,
Belov'd by all who bid the jail farewell.
When first I saw these wretched men in jail,
Before their trial did their fate bewail;
Soon as the sentence met each anxious ear,
Resign'd and true repentants did appear;
One and all cried out, oh that God how just!
To stop our sad career, on thee we'll trust;
One cause alone have made this sad distress,
Neglecting Lord's day and our drunkenness.

AN ADDRESS
_TO A MAN OF THE WORLD_.

Reflect ere death, call you away,
To answer at the awful day;
Your thousands cannot purchase life,
But as you waste it cause you strife.
Many a pang you've felt of late,
I must pronounce you vile ingrate;
By art you gain a Lady's smile,
Soon as acquired would her beguile;
Careless the pangs a husband feel,
To you I make