Page:Memoir and poems of Phillis Wheatley, a native African and a slave.djvu/101

Rh While his great works in Amory's pages shine,

And while he proves his essence all divine,

The Atheist sure no more can boast aloud

Of chance, or nature, and exclude the God;

As if the clay, without the potter's aid,

Should rise in various forms and shapes self-made,

Or worlds above, with orb o'er orb profound,

Self-moved, could run the everlasting round.

It cannot be—unerring Wisdom guides

With eye propitious, and o'er all presides.

Still prosper, Amory! still may'st thou receive

The warmest blessings which a Muse can give,

And when this transitory state is o'er,

When kingdoms fall, and fleeting Fame's no more,

May Amory triumph in immortal fame,

A nobler title and superior name!

No more the flow'ry scenes of pleasure rise,

Nor charming prospects greet the mental eyes,

Smiling, disportive, flushed with every grace.

The tear of sorrow flows from every eye,

Groans answer groans, and sighs to sighs reply;

What sudden pangs shot through each aching heart,

When Death, thy messenger, despatched his dart!