'Tis thus the bufy fan the air,
And mifers gather wealth and care.
Now, e'en now, my joys run high,
As on the mountain turf I lie:
While the wanton zephyr sings,
And in the vale perfumes his wings;
While the waters murmur deep;
While the shepherd charms his sheep;
While the birds unbounded fly,
And with music fill the sky,
Now, e'en now, my joys run high.
Be full, ye courts! be great who will;
Search for peace with all your skill;
Open wide the lofty door,
Seek her on the marble floor:
In vain ye search, she is not there;
In vain ye search the domes of Care!
Grafs and flowers Quiet treads,
On the meads and mountain-heads,
Along with Pleasure close allied,
Evet by each other's fide;
And often, by the murm'ring rill,
Hears the thrush, while all is ftill,
Within the groves of Grongar Hill.
ITH kind compaffion hear my cry,
O, Jefu, Lord of Life, on high!
As, when the summer's seasons beat
With fcorching flame and parching lieat,
The trees are burnt, the flowers fade,
And thirfly gaps in earth are made;
My thoughts of comfort languilh fo,
And fo my foul is broke by woe.
Then on thy fervant's drooping head
Thy dews of blefing fweetly shed;
Let those a quick refreshment give,
And raise my mind, and bid me livea
My fears of danger, while I breathe.
My dread of endless hell beneath;
My sense of forrow for my fin,
To fpringing comfort, change within,
Change all my fad complaints for cafe,
To cheerful notes of endless praise;
Nor let a tear mine eyes employ,
But fuch as owe their birth to joy:
Joy transporting, sweet and strong,
Fit to fill and raise my foug;
Joy that shall refounded be,
While days and nights succeed for mes
Be not as a Judge severe,
But then regard my mournful cry,
And look with mercy's gracious eye.
What needs my blood, fince thine will do,
To pay the debt to Justice due ?
O, render mercy's art divine!
Thy forrow proves the cure of mine!
Thy dropping wounds, thy woeful smart,
Allay the bleedings of my heart:
Thy death, in death's extreme of pain,
Restores my foul to life again.
Guide me then, for here I burn,
To make my Saviour some return.
I'll rife (if that will please him, ftill:
And fure I've heard him own it will);
I'll trace his fteps, and bear my cross,
Defpifing every grief and loss;
Since he, despising pain and shame,
First took up his, and did the same,
By DR. YOUNG.
N piety humanity is built;
And, un humanity, much happiness;
And yet still more on piety itself.
A foul in commerce with her God, is heaven;
Feels not the tumults and the shocks of life;
The whirls of passions, and the strokes of heart.
A Deity believ'd, is joy begun;
A Deity ador'd, is joy advanc'd;
A Deity belov'd, is joy matur'd.
Each branch of piety delight inspires :
Faith builds a bridge from this world to the next,
O'er death's dark gulph, and all its horror hides;
Praise, the sweet exhalation of our joy,
That joy exalts, and makes it sweeter lill;
Pray'r ardent opens heaven, lets down a stream
Of glory on the confecrated hour
Of man, in audience with the Deity.
Who worships the Great God, that instant joins
The first in heaven, and sets his foot on hell.
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