And now, O Blessed Redeemer! my rock, my hope and only sure defence, to thee do I cheerfully commit both my soul and my body. If thy wise Providence see fit, grant that I may rise in the morning, refreshed with sleep, and with a spirit of cheerful activity for the duties of the day but whether I wake here or in eternity, grant that my trust in thee may remain sure, and my hope unshaken. Our Father, &c.

[This prayer was discovered amongst some dirty loose papers of H. K. W.'s.]

Mem.

SEPTEMBER 22, 1806.

ON running over the pages of this book, I am constrained to observe, with sorrow and shame, that my progress in divine light has been little or none.

I have made a few conquests over my corrupt inclinations, but my heart still hankers after its old delights; still lingers half willing, half unwilling, in the ways worldly-mindedness.

of

My knowledge of divine things is very little improved. I have read less of the Scriptures than I did last year. In reading the Fathers, I have consulted rather the pride of my heart, than my spiritual good.

I now turn to the cause of these evils, and I find that the great root, the main-spring is-love of the world; next to that, pride; next to that, spiritual sloth.

[This Memorandum was written a very few weeks before his death.]

TRIBUTARY VERSES.

TRIBUTARY VERSES.

SONNET,

Addressed to H. K. White, on his Poems lately published.

HENRY! I greet thine entrance into life!
Sure presage that the myrmidons of fate,
The fool's unmeaning laugh, the critic's hate,
Will dire assail thee; and the envious strife
Of bookish schoolmen, beings over rife,
Whose pia-mater studious is fill'd

With unconnected matter, half distill'd

From letter'd page, shall bare for thee the knife,
Beneath whose edge the poet oft-times sinks:
But fear not! for thy modest work contains
The germ of worth; thy wild poetic strains,
How sweet to him, untutor'd bard, who thinks
Thy verse" has power to please, as soft it flows
Through the smooth murmurs of the frequent close."
G. L. C, 1803.