Written for my Son in his Sickness, to one of his School fellows.

Written for my Son in his Sickness, to one of his School fellows.

I little thought that honest Dick Would slight me so, when I was sick. Is he a Friend, who only stays, Whilst Health and Pleasure gild our Days; Flies, when Disease our Temper sours, Nor helps to pass the gloomy Hours?

Says my Mamma, who loves to make Reflections for her Childrens sake; You see how mortal Friendship ends — My Child, secure celestial Friends: Make Heav'n your chief, your early Care; You'll meet no Disappointment there. Build not on Length of Days, my Son; Life's longest Race is quickly run. Lay hold on ev'ry coming Hour; Do all the Good that's in your Pow'r: This will the sinking Heart sustain, When Cordials are dispens'd in vain; Asswage the racking Pains, that seize On Limbs devoted to Disease; The Place of fleeting Friends supply; Pour balmy Slumbers on thine Eye; Shield thee from Terrors of the Night, And wing thy Pray'rs to Realms of Light; Thy ev'ry painful Care dismiss, And crown thee with eternal Bliss.