CLXIV. Practical Reflections on the State of our Fathers.

HOW swift the Torrent rolls,
That bears us to the Sea!
The Tide, that bears our thoughtless Souls
To vast Eternity!

Our Fathers, where are they,
With all they call'd their own?
Their Joys and Griefs, and Hopes and Cares,
And Wealth and Honour gone.

But Joy or Grief succeeds
Beyond our mortal Thought,
While the poor Remnant of their Dust
Lies in the Grave forgot.

There, where the Fathers lie,
Must all the Children dwell;
Nor other Heritage possess
But such a gloomy Cell.

GOD of our Fathers, hear,
Thou everlasting Friend!
While we, as on Life's utmost Verge ,
Our Souls to Thee commend.

Of all the pious Dead
May we the Footsteps trace,
Till with them in the Land of Light
We dwell before thy Face.