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Being suitable Thoughts for a New Year.

Here bliss is short, imperfect, insincere, But total, absolute, and perfect there. Here time's a moment, short our happiest state, There infinite duration is our date. Here Satan tempts, and troubles e'en the best, There Satan's power extends not to the blest. In a weak sinful body here I dwell, But there I drop this frail and sickly shell. Here my best thoughts are stained with guilt and fear, But love and pardon shall be perfect there. Here my best duties are defild with sin, There all is ease without, and peace within. Here feeble faith supplies my only light, There faith and hope are swallow'd up in sight. Here love of self my fairest works destroys, There love of God shall perfect all my joys. Here things, as in a glass, are darkly shown, There I shall know as clearly as I'm known. Frail are the fairest flowers which bloom below, There freshest palms on roots immortal grow. Here wants or cares perplex my anxious mind, But spirits there a calm fruition find. Here disappointments my best schemes destroy, There those that sow'd in tears shall reap in joy.

Here vanity is stamp'd on all below,
Perfection there on every good shall grow.
Here my fond heart is fasten'd on some friend,
Whose kindness may, whose life must, have an end :
But there no failure can I ever prove,
God cannot disappoint, for God is love.
Here Christ for sinners suffer'd, groan'd, and bled,
But there he reigns the great triumphant head :
Here, mock'd and scourg'd, he wore a crown of thorns,
A crown of glory there his brow adorns.
Here error clouds the will, and dims the sight,
There all is knowledge, purity, and light.
Here so imperfect is this mortal state,
If blest myself I mourn some other's fate.

human wo I here repine,
The joy of every saint shall there be mine.
Here if I lean, the world shall pierce my heart,
But there that broken reed and I shall part.
Here on no promis'd good can I depend,
But there the Rock of



Here it some sudden joy delight inspire,
The dread to lose it damps the rising fire ;
But there whatever good the soul employ,
The thought that 'tis eternal, crowns the joy.





Of all the callings and the trades

Which in our land abound,
The iniller's is as useful, sure,

As can on earth be found.

The lord or 'squire of high degree

Is needful to the state,
Because he lets the land he owns

In farms both small and great

The farmer he manures the land,

Or else what corn could grow ?
The ploughman cuts the furrow deep

Ere he begins to sow.
And though no wealth he has, except

The labour of his hands ;
Yet honest industry's as good

As houses or as lands.

The thresher he is useful too

To all who like to eat ;
Unless he winnow'd well the corn,

The chaff would spoil the wheat.
But vain the squire's and farmer's care,

And vain the thresher's toil ;
And vain would be the ploughman's pains

Who harrows up the soil ;
And vain, without the miller's aid,

The sowing and the dressing ;
Then sure an honest miller he

Must be a public blessing.
And such a miller now I make

The subject of my song,
Which, though it shall be very true

Shall not be very long.
This miller lives in Glo'stershire,

I shall not tell his name;
For those who seek the praise of God,

Desire no other fame.

In last hard winter--who forgets

The frost of ninety-five?
Then was all dismal, scarce, and dear,

And no poor man could thrive.
Then husbandry long time stood still,

And work was at a stand;
To make the matter worse, the mills

Were froze throughout the land.
Our miller dwelt beside a stream,

All underneath the hill; Which flow'd arnain when others froze,

Nor ever stopp'd the mill.

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The clam'rous people came from far

This favour'd mill to find,
Both rich and poor our miller sought,

For none but he could grind.
His neighbours cried, “Now, miller, seize

“ The time to heap up store, “Since thou of young and helpless babes

“ Hast got full halt a score.
For folks, when tempted to grow rich,

By means not over nice,
Oft make their num'rous babes a blea

To sanctify the vice.
Our miller scorn'd such counsel base ;

And when he ground the grain,
With stedfast hand refus'd to touch

Beyond his lawful gain. “ When God afflicts the land,” said he,

“ Shall I afflict it more? “And watch for times of public wo, - To wrong both rich and


? " Thankful to that Almighty Power

“Who makes my river flow,
“I'll use the means he gives to sooth

“A hungry neighbour's wo
My river flows when others freeze,

“But 'tis at his command;
“For rich and poor I'll grind alike,
“No bribe shall stain


hand ?" So all the country who had corn

Here found their wants redrest; May ev'ry village in the land

Be with such millers blest !

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