He alth to the Sick, and Freedom to the Slave,
Bring not more Comfort than your Letter gave;
Oh think! what rackings Fears our Souls possess'd,
(Fears to be felt, but not to be express'd,)
When all one loves, and all one hopes, is lent,
To Winds and Seas, a dismal Banishment.

Here the red Lightning darts an awful Fate,
There dreadful Thunder rolls aloft in State.
And angry Neptune, as his Passions please,
Or calms or does incense, the angry Seas.

Such was the Night you quitted Albion's Shore,
And such our Fears, but for your sake the more:
Regardless of our selves, for you we sigh'd;
And for your Safety, ill our Pray'rs outuy'd.
Thanks gracious Providence! our Vows are heard,
And you through all these Dangers are preserv'd:
Virtue like yours is Heav'ns peculiar Care,
And such a pious Life needs nothing fear:
Oh may this bless'd Event an Earnest be,
Of Heav'n's Protection to Futurity.