Oft I retire, in hope to find

Something to calm my ruffled mind;

But still impetuous passions rise,

And keep me further from the skies.

If, by my heavenly guardian’s care,

I fly beyond this atmosphere;

How soon, alas! I’m downward borne,

And from th’ Almighty’s presence torn!

Great God! subdue th’ unruly part,

Take the possession of my heart;

And, in thy service, let me be

An honour to myself and Thee.

Text: The Christian’s Magazine 6 (1765), pp.141-2, ‘by Amynta’; see also Whelan, Nonconformist Women Writers, vol. 8, p. 100.