Classic Poem

I, At my Friends request,
Now sit me down to write
My Thoughts, which into Verse do run,
With pleasure and delight,
As Birds that fly at large,
So are my Notes untaught;
From Learning I expect no Praise,
Or elegant be thought.
But yet I think with Gospel sweets,
It here and there is deck'd:
I hope some who the Saviour love,
Will not these Lines reject.
My Verse as doggrel is condemn'd,
I Grammar do not know;
But all that's said can't stop my Muse,
My Thoughts so fast does flow.
One says, I think your Verse is flat,
Another, 'tis too gay;
The third replies, it Cloathing wants,
What will Reviewers say?
Will not they say, 'tis simple, mean,
The Author was to blame,
To publish here so poor a Work,
And put to it her Name?
Some wonder at my Courage oft,
My Aid they do not see;
I can do all Things, said St. Paul,
Through Christ to strengthen me.
My Verse, I hope, is cloath'd with Truth,
Firm on a Rock thus stand;
No Tempest then can shake it down,
As if built on the Sand.
When Weather hot, and Evenings fine,
Then in the Country, Glow-worms shine;
In artless Beauty deck the Grass,
And please the Country Lad and Lass,
Perhaps be to her Hand conveys
The reptile, both its Beauty praise,
Without Deceit, no cunning Art,
To speak the Language of the Heart.
And truly Pleasant is the sight,
When Worms and Insects do delight,
And speak their great Greator's Praise,
His Wisdom, and his wond'rous Ways.
What Wisdom, Pow'r, and mighty Love,
To new Create us from above;
None but a God can e'er Create,
This Work for Creature is too great.
No proud Philosopher will try,
For to Create one single Fly;
Are any curious for to see
What at Day-light the Glow-worms be?
They then appear a red and Green,
Harmless Worms obscure, and mean,
The Evening makes them shine so bright,
Like Moon they take a borrow'd Light.
I am a Worm, Lord, touch each Heart,
Dear Saviour, Lighten every part
Of this poor, worthless Work of mine,
And all the Honour shall be thine.