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Thy bounteous hand with worldly bliss
Has made my cup run o'er,
And in a kind and faithful friend
Has doubled all my store,
Ten thousand thousand precious gifts
My daily thanks employ,
Nor is the least a cheerful heart,
That tastes those gifts with joy.
Through every period of my life
Thy goodness I'll pursue';
And after death in distant worlds
The glorious theme renew.
When nature fails, and day and night
Divide thy works no more,
My ever grateful heart, O Lord,
Thy mercy shall adore.
XIII. Through all eternity to Thee
A joyful song I'll raise, For Ó! eternity's too short
To utter all tħy praise.
How are thy servants blest, O Lord !
How sure is their defence !
Eternal wisdom is their guide,
Their help Omnipotence.
In foreign realms, and lands remote,
Supported by thy care,
Through burning climes I pass'd unhurt,
And breath'd in tainted air.
Thy mercy sweeten'd every soil,
Made every region please;
The hoary Alpine Hills it warm'd,
And smooth'd the Tyrrhene seas.
Think, O my soul, devoutly think,
How, with affrighted eyes,
Thou saw'st the wide extended deep
In all its horrors rise..
Confusion dwelt in every face,
And fear in every heart;
When waves on waves, and gulphs on gulphs,
O'ercame the pilot's art.
Yet then, from all my griefs, O Lord,
Thy mercy set me free,
Whilst, in the confidence of prayer,
My soul took hold on thee.
For though in dreadfu} whirls we hung,.
High on the broken waye,
I knew thou wert not slow to hear,
Nor impotent to save.
The storm was laid, the winds retir'd,
Obedient to thy will;
The sea, that roar'd at thy command,
At thy command was still.
In midst of dangers, fears, and death,
Thy goodness I'll adore ;
And praise thee for thy mercies past,
And humbly hope for more.
My life, if thou preserv'st my life,
Thy sacrifice shall be;
And death, if death must be my doom,
Shall join my soul to thee.
ODE to SPRING.
(MISS CARTER.) Youth of the year, delightful Spring! Thy blest return on genial wing
İnspires my languid lays :
No more I sleep in sloth supine,
When all creation at thy shrine
Its annual tribute pays.
Escap'd from Winter's freezing pow'r,
Each blossom greets thee, and each flow'r :
And, foremost of the train,
By Nature (artless handmaid) drest,
The snow-drop comes in lilied vest,
Prophetic of thy reign.
The lark now strains her tuneful throat,
And every loud and sprightly note
Calls Echo from her cell;
Be warn’d, ye maids, that listen round,
A beauteous nymph became a sound,
The nymph, who lov'd too well.
The bright-hair'd sun, with warmth benign,
Bids tree, and shrub, and swelling vine,
Their infant buds display :
Again the streams refresh the plains,
Which Winter bound in icy chains,
And sparkling bless his ray.
Life-giving zephyrs breathe around,
And instant glows th' enamellid ground
With nature's varied hues;
Not so returns our youth decay'd,
Alas! nor air, nor sun, nor shade
The spring of life renews.
The sun's too quick revolving beam
Apace dissolves the human dream,
And brings th' appointed bour;
Too late we catch his parting ray,
And mourn the idly wasted day,
No longer in our pow'r.
Then happiest he, whose lengthen'd sight
Pursues by virtue's constant light
A hope beyond the skies ;
Where-frowning Winter ne'er shall come,
But rosy Spring for ever bloom,
And suns eternal rise.
The EMPLOYMENTS of a Country LIFE.
(GAY.) 'Tis not that rural sports alone invite, But all the grateful country breathes delight;
Here blooming Health exerts her gentle reign,
And strings the sinews of th' industrious swain.
Soon as the morning lark salutes the day,
Through dewy fields 1 take my frequent way,
Where I behold the farmer's early care,
In the revolving labours of the year.
When the fresh Spring in all her state is crown'd,
And high luxuriant grass o'erspreads the ground,
The laborer with the bending scythe is seen,
Shaving the surface of the waving green,
Of all her native pride disrobes the land,
And meads lays waste before his sweeping hand :
While with the mounting sun the meadow glows,
The fading herbage round he loosely throws;
But if some sign portend a lasting show'r,
Th' experienced swain foresees the coming hour,
His sun-burnt hands the scatt'ring fork forsake,
And ruddy damsels ply the saving rake;
In rising hills the fragrant harvest grows,
And spreads along the field in equal rows.
Now when the height of heav'n bright Phæbus gains,
And level rays cleave wide the thirsty plains,
When heifers seek the shade and cooling lake,
And in the middle path-way basks the snake;
O lead me, guard me from the sultry hours,
Hide me, ye forests, in your
closest bowers :
Where the tall oak his spreading arms entwines,
And with the beech a mutual shade combines;
Where flows the murmuring brook, inviting dreams,
Where bordering hazle overhangs the streams,
Whose rolling current, winding round and round,
With frequent falls makes all the wood resound;
Upon the mossy couch my limbs I cast,
And ev'n at noon the sweets of ev’ning taste.
Here I peruse the Mantuan's Georgic strains,
And learn the labours of lialian swains ;
In ev'ry page I see new landscapes rise,
And all Hesperia opens to my eyes.
I wander o'er the various rural toil,
And know the nature of each diff'rent soil :
This waving field is gilded o'er with corn,
That spreading trees with blushing fruit adorn :
Here I survey the purple vintage grow,
Climb round the poles, and rise in graceful row:
Now I behold the steed curvet and bound,
And paw with restless hoof the smoaking ground.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The careful insect 'midst his works I view,
Now from the flow'rs exhaust the fragrant dew :
With golden treasures load his little thighs,
And steer his distant journey through the skies :
Some against hostile drones the hive defend ;
Others with sweets the waxen cells distend :
Each in the toil his destin'd office bears,
And in the little bulk a mighty soul appears.
Or when the ploughman leaves the task of day,
And trudging homeward whistles on the way;
When the big udder'd cows with patience stand,
Waiting the stroakıngs of the damsel's hand;
No warbling cheers the woods ; the feather'a choir
To court kind slumbers to their sprays retire ;
When no rude gale disturbs the sleeping trees,
leaves confess the gentlest breeze; Engag'd in thought, to Neptune's bounds I stray, To take my farewell of the parting day; Far in the deep the sun his glory hides, A streak of gold the sea and sky divides : The purple clouds their amber linings show, And edg‘d with flames rolls ev'ry wave below : Here pensive I behold the fading light, And o'er the distant billow lose my sight.
Now night in silent state begins to rise, And twinkling orbs bestrow th' uncloudy skies ; Her borrow'd lustre growing Cynthia lends, And on the main a glittering path extends ; Millions of worlds hang in the spacious air, Which round their suns their annual circle steer. Sweet contemplation elevates my sense, While I survey the works of Providence. O could the muse in loftier strains rehearse The glorious Author of the universe, Who reins the winds, gives the vast ocean bounds, And circumscribes the floating worlds their rounds, My soul should overflow in songs of praise, And my
Creator's name inspire my lays!