God moves in mysterious waysHis wonders to performs

Man disavows, and Deity disowns me;Hell might afford my miseries a shelter;Therefore Hell keeps her ever-hungry mouths allBolted against me.Hard lot! encompassed with a thousand dangers,Weary, faint, trembling with a thousand terrors,I'm called, if vanquished, to receive a sentenceWorse than Abiram's.Him the vindictive rod of angry JusticeSent quick and howling to the centre headlong;I, fed with judgement, in a fleshy tomb, amBuried above ground.

Happy the bard, (if that fair name belongTo him that blends no fable with his song)Whose lines uniting, by an honest art,The faithful monitors and poets part,Seek to delight, that they may mend mankind,And while they captivate, inform the mind.Still happier, if he till a thankful soil,And fruit reward his honorable toil:But happier far who comfort those that waitTo hear plain truth at Judah's hallow'd gate

There is a pleasure in poetic pains / Which only poets know.