The Petition Poem by Henry Baker

Grant me, You Gods! before I die,
An happy Mediocrity;
I envy not the Man that's Great;
His Floors inlaid, his Coach of State;
To me an humble Quiet's more
Than all the Statesman's dearly purchas'd Store.
Nor Rank, nor Wealth, I ask: But let me be
Above Contempt, and wantful Poverty.
Give me a Mind not anxious to encrease,
But able to enjoy my little Stock in Peace;
Be it unruffl'd, calm, sedate,
Not rais'd above, but equal to my Fate.
Good--Nature still in my Behaviour shine,
And be Humanity for ever mine:
May true Religion, that unerring Guide,
Direct my Flight
To Heav'n aright,
But let me lay Its empty Forms aside.
Health and sound Reason give me still,
To judge unbiass'd what is Good or Ill.
Obedient let my Passions be
To all the Rules of strict Morality.

Now, You Heav'nly Pow'rs above!
Benign, indulgent, full of Love,
If in all your boundless Store
A Blessing so unprizable there be,
Crown whate'er you gave before
With a true Friend, full of Sincerity:
Be He th' Adviser of my rising Thoughts,
Able and willing to correct their Faults.

Grant me this, and wheresoe'er
Phoebus shews his Golden Ray,
Underneath the frozen Bear,
Or in the sultry Wilds of Africa,
Place me wheresoe'er you please,
On th' extended Continent,
Or some Island dasht with Seas,
Still shall I praise You, and be well content.