Take nature's path, and mad opinions leave;
All states can reach it, and all heads conceive:
Obvious her goods, in no extreme they dwell,
There needs but thinking right, and meaning well,
And mourn our various portions as we please,
Equal is common sense, and common ease.—

Order is heaven's first law; and this confest, Some are, and must be, greater than the rest, More rich, more wise; but who infers from hence, That such are happier, shocks all common sense.— Know, all the good that individuals find,

Or God of nature meant to mere mankind: Reason's whole pleasure, all the joys of sense, Lie in three words, Health, Peace, and Competence.

A HYMN,

Composed in a morning walk near Congleton.

"These are thy glorious works parent of good:"
The hill, the vale, the pastures, and the wood;
Rich in thy bounties, in thy beauties gay,
Nature salutes thy sun's enliv'ning ray.

How glorious in thy strength he mounts the sky,
The spotless azure Heav'ns rejoice on high.

The dewy blessings of this morning hour,
At thy command, the vapours softly shower.
How wide this arch is spread, that bending round
With genial influence broods o'er the teeming
ground!

By thee, yon lofty mountain rears its head: By thee, this humble valley t sinks its bed thine, which murmur through the

These riv'lets

mead;

To thee, great Source of Good, their winding channels lead.

Call'd forth by thee, these woods their leaves display,

T'enrich their verdure in the solar ray.

Thou cloath'st each hedge and bush, each herb and plant

To these fair blooming hopes thy blessing grant!
Bless thou the rising corn, the grassy field;
And let thy bounty plenteous harvests yield!
On thy supplies both man and beast attend;
On th' opening year thou smil'st, thy goodness
crowns its end.

What various flow'ry beauties spread the field, Which through the healthy air their fragrance

yield!

The cloud.

Through which Dane-Inch runs.

The branches of Dane-Inch.

R

The crowfoot, daisie, cowslip's golden hue,
The dandelion, violet's lovely blue.

How many more their modest graces hide
In the hedge-bottom, or the thicket's side!
The primrose, harebell, with the starwort fair,
And low ground-ivy's bloom perfume the air.
These, and each painted form that decks the land,
Blend their unrival'd tinctures and confess thy
hand.

The feather'd tribes to thee their voices raise, Rejoice in being, and resound thy praise. With lab ring wing, the lark, scarce seen on high, Incessant pours his mattins through the sky. Perch'd on yon lofty poplar's topmost spray, The shrill thrush welcomes the bright source of day. Deep in the thicket hid, the blackbird shy, His mellow whistle tunes, to aid the con.mon joy.

The wood-lark, glory of the warbling throng, Alternate sinks, and swells his varied song. The gaudy goldfinch, linnet, white-throat fair, With musical confusion load the air.

In deeper note the ring-dove 'midst the groves, To his coy mate soft-cooing breathes his loves. The list'ning swains, through ev'ry brow and dale, Delighted hear, and shout the cuckoo's simple tale.

The flocks and herds, whom thou supply'st with food,

Enjoying thank thee, and pronounce it good.

The fleecy people crop the early dew;
The tender lambs their harmless sports pursue.
The heifer's low fills all the valleys round;
The mimic wood-nymph propagates the sound.
The sweet-breath'd cows the herbage greedy graze,
The frolic calf his clumsy gambols plays.

The saunt ring cow-boy slowly creeps along,
Now his clear whistles tunes, and now his rustic
song.

These are thy works, O God, and these thy

care;

All these, in season due, thy various blessings share.

Blest Power! that me into existence drew, And spread this fair creation to my view! Blest Power! that gave me eyes, and ears, and mind,

And taught me, in each object, God to find! Blest be that care that guards my ev'ry day; That feeds, and clothes, and guides me through

my way.

Accept my thanks for this enliv'ning hour; This cheerful taste of bliss, that thrills through ev'ry power.

Grateful would I thy present blessings share, And trust my whole of being to thy future care.

ON HOPE.

In hope a king doth go to war;
In hope a lover lives full long;
In hope a merchant sails full far;
In hope just men do suffer wrong;
In hope the ploughman sows his seed:
Thus hope helps thousands at their need;
Then faint not, heart, among the rest;
Whatever chance, hope thou the best.

A MEDITATION FOR A LADY.

You are a tulip, seen to-day,-

But, dearest, of so short a stay,

That where you grew scarce man can say.

You are a lovely July-flower,

Yet one rude wind or ruffling shower
Will force you hence, and in an hour.

You are a sparkling rose i' th' bud,—
Yet lost, ere that chaste flesh and blood
Can show where you or grew, or stood.