Unveils the face of nature to the sight,

To their dark dens they take their hasty flight. Not so the husbandman, - for with the sun

He does his pleasant course of labours run:
Home with content in the cool e'en returns,
And his sweet toils until the morn adjourns.
How many are thy wondrous works, O Lord!
They of thy wisdom solid proofs afford:
Out of thy boundless goodness thou didst fill,
With riches and delights, both vale and hill:
Even the broad ocean, wherein do abide
Monsters that flounce upon the boiling tide,
And swarms of lesser beasts and fish beside.
'Tis there that daring ships before the wind
Do scud amain, and make the port assign'd:
"Tis there that Leviathan sports and plays,
And spouts his water in the face of day;
For food with gaping mouth they wait on thee;
If thou withhold'st, they pine, they faint, they die,
Thou bountifully opest thy liberal hand,

And scatter'st plenty both on sea and land.
Thy vital spirit makes all things live below,
The face of nature with new beauties glow.
God's awful glory ne'er will have an end,
To vast eternity it will extend.

When he surveys his works, at the wide sight
He doth rejoice, and take divine delight.
His looks the earth into its centre shakes;
A touch of his to smoke the mountains makes,
I'll to God's honour consecrate my lays,

And when I cease to be I'll cease to praise.
Upon the Lord, a sublime lofty theme,
My meditations sweet, my joys supreme.
Let daring sinners feel thy vengeful rod,
May they no more be known by their abode.
My soul, and all my powers, O bless the Lord,
And the whole race of men with one accord.

VII.

A COMPLAINT ON THE MISERIES OF LIFE.

I LOATHE, O Lord, this life below,
And all its fading, fleeting joys;

'Tis a short space that's filled with woe,
Which all our bliss by far outweighs.

When will the everlasting morn
With dawning light the skies adorn?

Fitly this life's compared to night,

When gloomy darkness shades the sky; Just like the morn's our glimmering light Reflected from the Deity.

When will celestial morn dispel

These dark surrounding shades of hell?

I'm sick of this vexatious state.

Where cares invade my peaceful hours;

Strike the last blow, O courteous fate,

I'll smiling fall like mowèd flowers; I'll gladly spurn this clogging clay, And, sweetly singing, soar away.

What's money but refined dust?
What's honour but an empty name?

And what is soft enticing lust,

But a consuming idle flame?

Yea, what is all beneath the sky
But emptiness and vanity?

With thousand ills our life's oppress'd,
There's nothing here worth living for,
In the lone grave I long to rest,

And be harassed here no more:

Where joy's fantastic, grief's sincere,
And where there's nought for which I care.

Thy word, O Lord, shall be my guide,
Heaven, where thou dwellest is my goal;
Through corrupt life grant I may glide
With an untainted upward soul.
Then may this life, this dreary night,
Dispelled be by morning light.

VIII.

A PASTORAL BETWIXT DAVID, THIRSIS, AND THE ANGEL GABRIEL,

UPON THE BIRTH OF OUR SAVIOUR.

DAVID.

WHAT means yon apparition in the sky,
Thirsis, that dazzles every shepherd's eye?
I slumbering was, when from yon glorious cloud
Came gliding music heavenly, sweet, and loud,
With sacred raptures which my bosom fires,
And with celestial joy my soul inspires;
It soothes the native horrors of the night,
And gladdens nature more than dawning light.

THIRSIS.

But hold, see hither through the yielding air
An angel comes: for mighty news prepare.

ANGEL GABRIEL.

Rejoice, ye swains, anticipate the morn
With songs of praise; for lo! a Saviour's born.
With joyful haste to Bethlehem repair,

And you will find the almighty infant there;
Wrapp'd in a swaddling band you'll find your king,
And in a manger laid; to him your praises bring.

CHORUS OF ANGELS.

To God who in the highest dwells,
Immortal glory be;

Let

peace be in the humble cells

Of Adam's progeny.

DAVID.

No more the year shall wintry horrors bring;
Fix'd in the indulgence of eternal spring,
Immortal green shall clothe the hills and vales,
And odorous sweets shall load the balmy gales;
The silver brooks shall in soft murmurs tell
The joy that shall their oozy channels swell.
Feed on, my flocks, and crop the tender grass;
Let blooming joy appear on every face;
For lo this blessed, this propitious morn,
The Saviour of lost mankind is born.

THIRSIS.

Thou fairest morn that ever sprang from night,
Or deck'd the opening skies with rosy light.
Well mayst thou shine with a distinguish'd ray,
Since here Emmanuel condescends to stay,
Our fears, our guilt, our darkness to dispel,
And save us from the horrid jaws of hell.
Who from his throne descended, matchless love!
To guide poor mortals to bless'd seats above:
But come without delay, let us be gone,
Shepherd, let's go, and humbly kiss the Son.