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The confcious heart of Charity would warm,
And her wide with Benevolence dilate;
The focial tear would rife, the focial figh;
And into clear perfection, gradual blifs,
Refining fill, the focial Pafsions work.



A Morning Hymn.

THESE are thy glorious works, Parent of good,
Almighty, thine this univerfal frame,

Thus wond'rous fair; thyfelf how wond'rous then!
Unfpeakable, who fitt'ft above these heavens
To us invifible, or dimly feen

In thefe thy loweft works; yet these declare
Thy goodness beyond thought, and pow'r divine..
Speak ye who best can tell, ye fons of light,
Angels; for ye behold him, and with fongs
And choral fymphonies, day without night,
Circle his throne rejoicing; ye in heaven,
On earth, join all ye creatures to extol

Him firft, Him laft, Him midft, and without end.
Faireft of flars, laft in the train of night,

If better thou belong not to the dawn,

Sure pledge of day, that crown'ft the fmiling morn
With thy bright circlet, praise him in thy sphere,
While day arifes, that fweet hour of prime.
Thou Sun, of this great world, both eye and foul,
Acknowledge him thy greater, found his praife..
In thy eternal courfe, both when thou climb'st,
And when high noon haft gain'd, and when thou fall'st.
Moon, that now meet'ft the orient fun, now fly'ft,
With the fix'd stars, fix'd in their orb that flies;

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ye five other wand'ring fires that move
In myftic dance, not without fong, refound
His praife, who out of darkness call'd up light.
Air, and ye Elements, the eldest birth
Of Nature's womb, that in quaternion run
Perpetual circle, multiform, and mix

And nourish all things; let your ceafelefs change
Vary to our great MAKER ftill new praife.
Ye Mifts and Exhalations that now rife
From hill or fleaming lake, dulky or gray,
Till the fun paint your fleecy fkirts with gold,
In honour to the world's great AUTHOR rife!
Whether to deck with clouds th' uncolour'd iky,
Or wet the thirsty earth with falling showers,
Rifing or falling ftill advance his praife.

His praife, ye Winds, that from four quarters blow,
Breathe foft or loud; and wave your tops, ye Pines,
With every plant in fign of worship wave.
Fountains, and ye that warble as ye flow
Melodious murmurs, warbling tune his praife.
Join voices, all ye living Souls; ye Birds,
That finging up to heav'n's gate afcend,
Bear on your wings and in your notes his praife.
Ye that in waters glide, and ye that walk
The earth, and stately tread, or lowly creep;
Witness if I be filent, morn or even,
To hill or valley, fountain, or frefh fhade
Made vocal by my fong, and taught his praife.
Hail, UNIVERSAL LORD! be bounteous ftill
To give us only good; and if the night
Has gather'd aught of evil, or conceal'd,
Disperse it, as now light difpels the dark.





Ode to Content.

THOU, the nymph with placid eye! O feldom found, yet ever nigh!

Receive my temp'rate vow:

Not all the forms that flake the pole
Can e'er difturb thy halcyon foul,
And fmooth unalter'd brow.

O come, in fimpleft veft array'd,
With all thy fober cheer display'd,
To blefs my longing fight;

Thy mien compos'd, thy even pace,
Thy meek regard, thy matron grace,
And chafte fubdu'd delight.

No more by varying pafsions beat,
O gently guide my pilgrim feet
To find thy hermit cell;

Where in fome pure and equal sky,
Beneath thy foft indulgent eye,

The modeft Virtues dwell,

Simplicity in Attic veft,

And Innocence, with candid breast,
And clear undaunted eye;

And Hope, who points to distant years,
Fair op'ning thro' this vale of tears
A vifta to the fky.

There Health, thro' whofe calm bofom glide
The temperate Joys in even tide,
That rarely ebb or flow;
And Patience there, thy fifter meek,
Prefents her mild, unvarying check,
To meet the offer'd blow.

Her influence taught the Phrygian sage
A tyrant master's wanton rage,
With fettled fmiles, to meet:
Inur'd to toil and bitter bread,
He bow'd his meek fubmitted head,
And kifs'd thy fainted feet.

But thou, Oh Nymph retir'd and coy!
In what brown hamlet doft thou joy
To tell thy tender tale;

The lowlieft children of the ground,
Mofs-rofe and violet bloffom round,
And lily of the vale.

O fay what foft propitious hour
I beft may choose to hail thy power,
And court thy gentle sway!
When Autumn, friendly to the Mufe,
Shall thy own modest tints diffuse,

And shed thy milder day ?

When Eve, her dewy star beneath,
Thy balmy spirit loves to breathe,

And ev'ry form is laid?

If fuch an hour was e'er thy choice,
Oft let me hear thy foothing voice,
Low whifp'ring through the shade.



The Shepherd and the Philofopher.

REMOTE from cities liv'd a fwain,
Unvex'd with all the cares of gain;
His head was filver'd o'er with age,
And long experience made him fage;
In fummer's heat, and winter's cold,
He fed his flock and penn'd the fold;
His hours in cheerful labour flew,
Nor envy nor ambition knew:

His wifdom and his honeft fame
Through all the country rais'd his name.
A deep philofopher (whofe rules
Of moral life were drawn from schools).
The fhepherd's homely cottage fought,
And thus explor'd his reach of thought.
"Whence is thy learning? Hath thy toil
O'er books confum'd the midnight oil?
Haft thou old Greece and Rome furvey'd,
And the vaft fenfe of Plato weigh'd?
Hath Socrates thy foul refin'd,
And haft thou fathom'd Tully's mind?
Or, like the wife Ulyffes, thrown,
By various fates, on realms unknown,

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