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The universal prayer.
In ev'ry clime, ador'd,
Jehovah, Jove, or Lord !
Who all my sense confin'a
And that myself am blind ;
To see the good from ill;
Left free the human will.
Or warns me not to do,
That more than heay'n pursue.
Let me not cast away ;
T' enjoy is to obey.
Thy goodness let me bound,
When thousand worlds are round. Let not this weak, unknowing hand
Presume thy bolts to throw;
On each I judge thy foe.
Still in the right to stay ;
To find that better way!
Or impious discontent,
Or aught thy goodness lent.
To hide the fault I see ;
That mercy I to others show,
That mercy show to me.
Since quicken’d by thy breath ;
Thro’ this day's life or death!
All else beneath the sun
And let thy will be done.
Whose altar, earth, sea, skies!
Conscience. O TREAĆAROUS conscience-! while she seems to sleep On rose and myrtle, lull'd with syren song ; While she seems, nodding o'er her charge, to drop On headlong appetite the slacken'd rein, And give us up to license, unrecallid, Unmark'd ;-see, from behind her secret stand, The sly informer minutes ev'ry fault, And her dread diary with horror fills. Not the gross act alone employs her pen; She reconnoitres fancy's airy band, A watchful foe! the formidable spy, List’ning o’erhears the whispers of our camp; Our dawning purposes of heart explores, And steals our embryos of iniquity. As all rapacious usurers conceal Their doomsday-book from all-consuming heirs ; Thus, with indulgence most severe, she treats Us spendthrifts of inestimable time ; Unnoted, notes each moment misapply'd ; In leaves more durable than leaves of brass, Writes our whole history; which death shall read In ev'ry pale delinquent's private ear; And judgment publish ; publish to more worlds Than this ; and endless age in groans resound.—YOUNG,
On an infant.
Attendant on the spring !
And woods thy welcome sing.
Thy certain voice we hear :
Or mark the rolling year?
I hail the time of flow'rs,
Of birds among the bow'rs.
To pull the flow'rs so gay,
And imitates thy lay.
Soon as the pea puts on the bloom,
Thou fly'st the rocal vale,
Another spring to hail.
Thy sky is ever clear ;
No winter in thy year!
We'd make, with social wing,
Companions of the spring.-LOGAN.
Day. A pastoral in three parts.
In the barn the tenant cock,
Close to Partlet perch'd on high, Briskly crows, (the shepherd's clock !)
Jocund that the morning's nigh. Swiftly, from the mountain's brow,
Shadows, nurs'd by night retire; And the peeping sun-beam, now
Paints with gold the village spire. Philomel forsakes the thorn,
Plaintive where she prates at night ; And the lark to meet the morn,
Soars beyond the shepherd's sight. From the low-roof'd cottage ridge,
See the chatt'ring swallow spring ; Darting through the one-arch'd bridge,
Quick she dips her dappled wing. Now the pine-tree's waving top
Gently greets the morning gale ; Kidlings, now, begin to crop
Daisies, on the dewy dalo. From the balmy sweets, uncloy'd,
(Restless till her task be done,) Now the busy bee's employ'd,
Sipping dew before the sun.
Trickling through the crevic'd rock,
Where the limpid stream distils, Sweet refreshment waits the flock,
When 'tis sun-drove from the hills.' Colin's for the promis'd corn
(Ere the harvest hopes are ripe) Anxious ;-whilst the huntsman's horn,
Boldly sounding, drowns his pipe. Sweet- sweet, the warbling throng,
On the white emblossom'd spray! Nature's universal song
Echoes to the rising day.
FERVID on the glitt'ring flood,
Now the noontide radiance glows : Drooping o'er its infant bud,
Not a dew-drop's left the rose. By the brook the shepherd dines,
From the fierce meridian heat, Shelter'd by the branching pines,
Pendent o'er his grassy seat. Now the flock forsakes the glade,
Where uncheck'd the sun-beams fall, Sure to find a pleasing shade
By the ivy'd abbey wall. Echo, in her airy round,
O’er the river, rock, and hill, Cannot catch a single sound,
Save the clack of yonder mill. Cattle court the zephyrs bland,
Where the streamlet wanders cool ; Or with languid silence stand
Midway in the marshy pool.
Not a Autt'ring zephyr springs ;
Scorch its soft, its silken wings. Not a leaf has leave to stir, Nature's lulld serene--and still !