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'Twas found well nigh as soon as it was sought;
And here the evil lay, 'twas clear to see; For by a single touch much good was wrought, And wholly cured the time-piece was by three.
Mortal! if thou wouldst run thy daily race
By heaven's own light, nor from the truth depart, Expend not care or thought upon thy face;
But set the regulator right-thy heart.
THE MOWER'S SCYTHE.
MANY praise the soaring lark
Warbling in the sky so blithe,
Till you scarce can choose but hark :--Why so few, the mower's scythe?
Even the bee within the flower,
Bending its small stem so lithe, Has of praises had a shower :Why then not the mower's scythe?
Oh, the glittering tinkling weapon,
Here is one, and there another;
Making all the field alive!
Now the tones are high and thrilling ; Quick too as the lightning's wing; Every heart that listens filling,
Beyond all imagining!
Then-how softly, smoothly gliding,
Its curved motion through the grass!
Oh! sweep on, thou mighty mower!
No, nor yet to see the flowerets
'Tis enough to make a poet
Even with very envy writhe At thy skill, and long to know it, That his harp might match a scythe.
On! sweep on! thou mighty mower!
Of the praise for music's power,
THE LOVE OF NATURE NOT THE LOVE OF GOD.
A HEART for nature's beauties is a dower,
And prompts at seasons, with delusive power,
Then, in thy love for nature learn to trace
A Father's love for thee-know God a God of grace!