An Address to Miss Phillis Wheatly

                         I
 
O come you pious youth! adore
    The wisdom of thy God,
In bringing thee from distant shore,
    To learn His holy word.
                                                 Eccles. xii.
 
                         II
 
Thou mightst been left behind
    Amidst a dark abode;
God’s tender mercy still combin’d,
    Thou hast the holy word.
                                         Psal. cxxxv, 2, 3.
 
                         III
 
Fair wisdom’s ways are paths of peace,
    And they that walk therein,
Shall reap the joys that never cease,
    And Christ shall be their king.
                                Psal. i, 1,2; Prov. iii, 7.
 
                         IV
 
God’s tender mercy brought thee here;
    Tost o’er the raging main;
In Christian faith thou hast a share,
    Worth all the gold of Spain.
                                        Psal. cii, 1, 3, 4.
 
                         V
 
While thousands tossed by the sea,
    And others settled down,
God’s tender mercy set thee free,
    From dangers that come down.
                                                   Death.
 
                          VI
 
That thou a pattern still might be,
    To youth of Boston town,
The blessed Jesus set thee free,
    From every sinful wound.
                                              2 Cor. v, 10.
 
                         VII
 
The blessed Jesus, who came down,
    Unvail’d his sacred face,
To cleanse the soul of every wound,
    And give repenting grace.
                                               Rom. v, 21.
 
                         VIII
 
That we poor sinners may obtain,
    The pardon of our sin;
Dear blessed Jesus now constrain,
    And bring us flocking in.
                                    Psal. xxiv, 6, 7, 8.
 
                         IX
 
Come you, Phillis, now aspire,
    And seek the living God,
So step by step thou mayst go higher,
    Till perfect in the word.
                                         Matth. vii, 7, 8.
 
                         X
 
While thousands mov’d to distant shore,
    And others left behind,
The blessed Jesus still adore,
    Implant this in thy mind.
                                            Psal. lxxxix, 1.
 
                         XI
 
Thou hast left the heathen shore;
    Thro’ mercy of the Lord,
Among the heathen live no more,
    Come magnify thy God.
                                      Psal. xxxiv, 1, 2, 3.
 
                         XII
 
I pray the living God may be,
    The shepherd of thy soul;
His tender mercies still are free,
    His mysteries to unfold.
                                         Psal. lxxx, 1, 2, 3.
 
                         XIII
 
Thou, Phillis, when thou hunger hast,
    Or pantest for thy God;
Jesus Christ is thy relief,
    Thou hast the holy word.
                                         Psal. xiii, 1, 2, 3.
 
                         XIV
 
The bounteous mercies of the Lord,
    Are hid beyond the sky,
And holy souls that love his word,
    Shall taste them when they die.
                                           Psal. xvi, 10, 11.
 
                         XV
 
These bounteous mercies are from God,
    The merits of His Son;
The humble soul that loves His word,
    He chooses for His own.
                                              Psal. xxxiv, 15.
 
                         XVI
 
Come, dear Phillis, be advis’d,
    To drink Samaria’s flood;
There nothing that shall suffice
    But Christ’s redeeming blood.
                                              John iv, 13, 14.
 
                         XVII
 
While thousands muse with earthly toys;
    And range about the street,
Dear Phillis, seek for heaven’s joys,
    Where we do hope to meet.
                                                Matth. vi, 33.
 
                         XVIII
 
When God shall send his summons down,
    And number saints together,
Blest angels chant, (triumphant sound),
    Come live with me forever.
                                               Psal. cxvi, 15.
 
                         XIX
 
The humble soul shall fly to God,
    And leave the things of time,
Start forth as ’twere at the first word,
    To taste things more divine.
                                              Matth. v, 3, 8.
 
                         XX
 
Behold! the soul shall waft away,
    Whene’er we come to die,
And leave its cottage made of clay,
    In twinkling of an eye.
                                    Cor. xv, 51, 52, 53.
 
                         XXI
 
Now glory be to the Most High,
    United praises given,
By all on earth, incessantly,
    And all the host of heav’n.
                                            Psal. cl, 6.

Notes:

While spelled numerous ways across various editions, the addressee's name (Phillis Wheatley) has been reproduced to match the Poetry Foundation's source text of this poem: America's First Negro Poet: The Complete Works of Jupiter Hammon of Long Island.  Published in the 18th century, Jupiter Hammon's poetry is in the Public Domain.

Copyright Credit: Jupiter Hammon, "An Address to Miss Phillis Wheatly" from America's First Negro Poet: The Complete Works of Jupiter Hammon of Long Island eds. by Ransom, Stanley Austin Jr; Wegelin, Oscar; and Loggins, Vernon. Port Washington, N.Y: Empire State Historical Publications Series No. 82, 1970. http://digitalcommons.unl.edu/etas/65. 
 
Source: America’s First Negro Poet: The Complete Works of Jupiter Hammon of Long Island (Associated Faculty Press Inc., 1778)