“A Poem for Children with Thoughts on Death” by Jupiter Hammon


                              

Jupiter Hammon

                             

                               I

O Ye young and thoughtless youth,
   Come seek the living God,
The scriptures are a sacred truth,
   Ye must believe the word.
                                               Eccl. xii. 1.


                              II
Tis God alone can make you wise,
   His wisdom’s from above,
He fills the soul with sweet supplies
   By his redeeming love.
                                                   Prov. iv. 7.


                              III
Remember youth the time is short,
   Improve the present day
And pray that God may guide your thoughts,
   And teach your lips to pray.
                                                 Psalm xxx. 9.


                              IV
To pray unto the most high God,
   And beg restraining grace,
Then by the power of his word
   You’l see the Saviour’s face.
                              V
Little children they may die,
   Turn to their native dust,
Their souls shall leap beyond the skies,
   And live among the just.
                              VI


Like little worms they turn and crawl,
   And gasp for every breath.
The blessed Jesus sends his call,
   And takes them to his rest.
                              VII


Thus the youth are born to die,
   The time is hastening on,
The Blessed Jesus rends the sky,
   And makes his power known.
                                            Psalm ciii. 15.


                              VIII
Then ye shall hear the angels sing
   The trumpet give a sound,
Glory, glory to our King,
   The Saviour’s coming down.
                                          Matth. xxvi. 64.
                              IX


Start ye saints from dusty beds,
   And hear a Saviour call,
Twas a Jesus Chirst that died and bled,
   And thus preserv’d thy soul.
                             X


This the portion of the just,
   Who lov’d to serve the Lord,
Their bodies starting from the dust,
   Shall rest upon their God.
                              XI


They shall join that holy word,
   That angels constant sing,
Glory, glory to the Lord,
   Hallelujahs to our King.
                              XII


Thus the Saviour will appear,
   With guards of heavenly host,
Those blessed Saints, shall then declare,
   Tis Father, Son and Holy Ghost.
                                              Rev. i. 7, 8.


                              XIII


Then shall ye hear the trumpet sound,
   The graves give up their dead,
Those blessed saints shall quick awake,
   And leave their dusty beds.
                                    Matth. xxvii. 51, 52.


                              XIV
Then shall you hear the trumpet sound,
   And rend the native sky,
Those bodies starting from the ground,
   In the twinkling of an eye.
                             I Cor. xv. 51, 52, 53, 54.


                              XV
There to sing the praise of God,
   And join the angelic train,
And by the power of his word,
   Unite together again.
                              XVI


Where angels stand for to admit
   Their souls at the first word,
Cast sceptres down at Jesus feet
   Crying holy holy Lord.
                              XVII


Now glory be unto our God
   All praise be justly given,
Ye humble souls that love the Lord
   Come seek the joys of Heaven.
Hartford, January 1, 1782.

“Thank God For Little Children” by Frances E. W. Harper


Thank God for little children,
Bright flowers by earth’s wayside,
The dancing, joyous lifeboats
Upon life’s stormy tide.

Thank God for little children;
When our skies are cold and gray,
They come as sunshine to our hearts,

Continue reading “Thank God For Little Children” by Frances E. W. Harper

“An Address to Miss Phillis Wheatley” by Jupiter Hammon


Jupiter Hammon

I.

O come you pious youth! adore

    The wisdom of thy God,
In bringing thee from distant shore,
    To learn His holy word.
                                                                  Eccles. xii.
II.
Though mightst been left behind
    Amidst a dark abode;
God’s tender mercy still combined,
    Thou hast the holy word.
                                                                  Psal. cxxv. 2, 3.

“To S. M. A Young African Painter, On Seeing His Works” by Phillis Wheatley


Phyllis WheatleyTO show the lab’ring bosom’s deep intent,
And thought in living characters to paint,
When first thy pencil did those beauties give,
And breathing figures learnt from thee to live,
How did those prospects give my soul delight,
A new creation rushing on my sight?
Still, wond’rous youth! each noble path pursue,
On deathless glories fix thine ardent view:
Still may the painter’s and the poet’s fire
To aid thy pencil, and thy verse conspire!

Continue reading “To S. M. A Young African Painter, On Seeing His Works” by Phillis Wheatley

“On Virtue” by Phillis Wheatley


Phyllis Wheatley

O Thou bright jewel in my aim I strive
To comprehend thee. Thine own words declare
Wisdom is higher than a fool can reach.
I cease to wonder, and no more attempt
Thine height t’ explore, or fathom thy profound.
But, O my soul, sink not into despair,
Virtue is near thee, and with gentle hand

Continue reading “On Virtue” by Phillis Wheatley

“A Rebus” by Phillis Wheatley


I.Phyillis Wheatley
A bird delicious to the taste,
On which an army once did feast,
Sent by an hand unseen;
A creature of the horned race,
Which Britain’s royal standards grace;
A gem of vivid green;
II.
A town of gaiety and sport,
Where beaux and beauteous nymphs resort,

Continue reading “A Rebus” by Phillis Wheatley

“An Hymn to Evening” by Phillis Wheatley


Phyillis Wheatley

SOON as the sun forsook the eastern main
The pealing thunder shook the heav’nly plain;
Majestic grandeur! From the zephyr’s wing,
Exhales the incense of the blooming spring.
Soft purl the streams, the birds renew their notes,
And through the air their mingled music floats.
Through all the heav’ns what beauteous dies are
spread!
But the west glories in the deepest red:
So may our breasts with ev’ry virtue glow,
The living temples of our God below!
Fill’d with the praise of him who gives the light,
And draws the sable curtains of the night,
Let placid slumbers sooth each weary mind,
At morn to wake more heav’nly, more refin’d;
So shall the labours of the day begin
More pure, more guarded from the snares of sin.
Night’s leaden sceptre seals my drowsy eyes,