And, while it shows the land the soul desires,
The language of the land she seeks inspires.
Thus touch'd, the tongue receives a sacred cure &
Of all that was absurd, profane, impure;

Held within modest bounds, the tide of speech
Pursues the course, that Truth and Nature teach;
No longer labours merely to produce

The pomp of sound, or tinkle without use:
Where'er it winds, the salutary stream,
Sprightly and fresh, enriches ev'ry theme,
While all the happy man possess'd before,
The gift of nature, or the classic store,
Is made subservient to the grand design,
For which Heav'n form'd the faculty divine.
So should an idiot, while at large he strays,
Find the sweet lyre, on which an artist plays,
With rash and awkward force the chords he shakes,
And grins with wonder at the jar he makes ;
But let the wise and well-instructed hand
Once take the shell beneath his just command,
In gentle sounds it seems as it complain'd
Of the rude injuries it late sustain'd,
Till tun'd at length to some immortal song,

It sounds Jehovah's name, and pours his praise along.

I

HACKNEY'D in business, wearied at that oar,
Which thousands, once fast chain'd to, quit no more,
But which, when life at ebb runs weak and low,
All wish, or seem to wish, they could forego;
The statesman, lawyer, merchant, man of trade,
Pants for the refuge of some rural shade,
Where, all his long anxieties forgot
Amid the charms of a sequester'd spot,
Or recollected only to gild o'er,

And add a smile to what was sweet before,
He may possess the joys he thinks he sees,
Lay his old age upon the lap of Ease,
Improve the remnant of his wasted span,
And, having lived a trifler, die a man.

Thus Conseience pleads her cause within the breast,
Though long rebell'd against, not yet suppress'd,

And calls a creature form'd for God alone,
For Heav'n's high purposes, and not his own,
Calls him away from selfish ends and aims,
From what debilitates and what inflames,
From cities humming with a restless crowd,
Sordid as active, ignorant as loud,

Whose highest praise is that they live in vain,
The dupes of pleasure, or the slaves of gain,
Where works of man are cluster'd close around,
And works of God are hardly to be found,
To regions where, in spite of sin and wo,
Traces of Eden are still seen below,

Where mountain, river, forest, field, and grove,
Remind him of his Maker's pow'r and love.
'Tis well if, look'd for at so late a day,
In the last scene of such a senseless play,
True wisdom will attend his feeble call,
And grace his action ere the curtain fall.

Souls, that have long despis'd their heav'nly birth, Their wishes all impregnated with Earth, For threescore years employ'd with ceaseless care In catching smoke and feeding upon air, Conversant only with the ways of men, Rarely redeem the short remaining ten. Invet'rate habits choke th' unfruitful heart, Their fibres penetrate it's tend'rest part, And, draining it's nutritious pow'rs to feed Their noxious growth, starve ev'ry better seed.

Happy, if full of days but happier far, 17 09T
If, ere we yet discern life's ev'ning star, en es [L}
Sick of the service of a world, that feeds on? [9]
It's patient drudges with dry chaff and weeds, morI
We can escape from Custom's idiot sway, benfT
To serve the Sov'reign we were born tobey. 20dT
Then sweet to muse upon his skill display dols aɗ]
(Infinite skill) in all that he has made!
To trace in Nature's most minute design
The signature and stamp of pow'r divine,1) af1
Contrivance intricate, express'd with ease,

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Where unassisted sight no beauty sees, a 261
The shapely limb and lubricated joint,
Within the small dimensions of a point,

Muscle and nerve miraculously spun,

His mighty work, who speaks and it is done, vti
Th' invisible in things scarce seen reveal'd,
To whom an atom is an ample field;

To wonder at a thousand insect forms,
These hatch'd, and those resuscitated worms, ObÅ
New life ordain'd and brighter scenes to share‚Ã'Â
Once prone on earth, now buoyant upon air,ne I
Whose shape would make them, had they bulk and
size,
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More hideous foes than fancy can devise;
With helmet-heads, and dragon-scales adorn'd,m 1
The mighty myriads, now securely scorn'd,fc (
Would mock the majesty of man's high birth,er
Despise his bulwarks, and unpeople earth.

TH

Then with a glance of fancy to survey,
Far as the faculty can stretch away,

Ten thousand rivers pour'd at his command 1
From urns, that never fail, through ev'ry land;
These like a deluge with impetuous force,
Those winding modestly a silent course;
The cloud-surmounting Alps, the fruitful vales;
Seas, on which ev'ry nation spreads her sails;
The sun, a world whence other worlds drink light,
The crescent moon, the diadem of night;

Stars countless, each in his appointed place,
Fast anchor'd in the deep abyss of space-

At such a sight to catch the poet's flame,
And with a rapture like his own exclaim,
These are thy glorious works, thou source of good,
How, dimly seen, how faintly understood '

Thine, and upheld by thy paternal care,

This universal frame, thus wondrous fair;
Thy pow'r divine, and bounty beyond thought,
Ador'd and prais'd in all that thou hast wrought.
Absorb'd in that immensity I see,

I shrink abas'd, and yet aspire to thee;
Instruct me, guide me to that heav'nly day,

Thy words, more clearly than thy works, display,
That, while thy truths my grosser thoughts refine,
I may resemble thee, and call thee mine.

O blest proficiency! surpassing all, That men erroneously their glory call,