1 To Thee, my GOD and Saviour, I
By Day and Night address my Cry;
To me incline thine Ear,
And my Distresses hear;
For Seas of Trouble me invade,
My Soul draws nigh to Death's cold Shade.
Like one whose Strength is fled,
I'm number'd with the Dead.
2 Like those who shrowded in the Grave
From thee no more Remembrance have,
Rejected from thy Care,
And plung'd in dark Despair.
Thy Wrath has hard upon me lain,
Afflicting me with restless Pain;
Me all thy Waves have prest,
Too weak to bear the least.
3 Remov'd from Friends, I sigh'd alone,
In a loath'd Dungeon laid, where none
Vouchsafes to visit me,
Past Hopes of Liberty.
My Eyes from weeping never cease,
They waste, but still my Griefs increase,
Yet LORD, to thee I've pray'd,
And still invok'd thy Aid.
4 Wilt thou by Miracle revive
The Dead, whom thou forsook'st alive?
And them, thy Praise to sing,
From their Confinement bring?
Shall the mute Grave thy Love confess,
A mould'ring Tomb thy Faithfulness?
Thy Works renown obtain,
Where Shades and Silence reign?
5 To thee, O LORD, I cry, forlorn,
My Pray'r prevents the early Morn;
Why hidest thou thy Face,
And leav'st me in Disgrace?
Prevailing Sorrows bear me down,
Which from my Youth with me have grown,
With constant Grief opress'd,
Thy Terrors fill my Breast.
6 Thy Wrath hath burst upon my Head,
My troubled Soul is fill'd with Dread,
And Woes on ev'ry Side,
Like Waves, are multiply'd.
My Lovers, Friends, Familiars, all
Remove from Sight and out of Call,
Daily I make my Moan,
Neglected and alone.
Francis Hopkinson; grad. College of Philadelphia with master’s degree; studied law and passed Pa. bar; opened conveyancer’s office in Philadelphia; musical and literary talent; prolific writer who frequently used pen name, A. B.
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