THE HAEP OF PITCAIRN. 309 
The gall of bitterness is thine, 
Still dost thou not thy state discern. 
Though more degraded than the swine, 
Thou wilt not to thy home return. 
The Crown is fallen from thy head, 
The gold of Ophir, how dim ! 
Burning appears in beauty's stead, 
And all thy garb in wretched trim. 
Alas, alas ! how art thou changed, 
Yet angels thy declensions mourn, 
Though from thy Saviour-God estranged, 
He still invites thee to return. 
3. 
What is thy hope ? What canst thou find 
To equal thy Redeemer's love ? 
Riches are fleeting as the wind, 
And pride and lust will adders prove. 
Oh stay, Oh stay thy mad career, 
Ere to destruction thou art borne, 
Infatuated sinner, hear, 
Deluded wanderer, return. 
4. 
Recal to mind those precious hours 
When in the truth thy footsteps trod ; 
When heart and mind and all thy powers 
Were dedicated to thy God. 
