While those who trust the Lord shall find
Him ever faithful, just, and kind.
to the Ant, thou sluggard, learn her ways,
Nor longer trifle in thy youthful days:
No one hath she her nimble steps to guide,
To rule her actions, watchful by her side;
Yet see her wakeful in the morn arise,
Nor cease her toil 'till darkness veils the skies.
She in the summer, with laborious hand,
Collects the produce of the fruitful land.
Like her the summer of thy life improve,
Serve God below, seek happiness above.
How long wilt thou thy life in slumber spend?
Say, thoughtless wretch, when will thy sleeping end?
How long wilt thou in careless accents cry,
A little while and then my slumbers fly?
A little while to sleep my hands I fold,
The bed still draws me, gentle slumbers hold?
So swift dread poverty upon thee comes,
As on the man who far in deserts roams,
Or dreary mountains, where no water flows,
Nor dwelling stands, not trees, nor herbage grows.
Like as an armed man would on thee seize,
Shall hungre, thirst, and want of cloathing teaze.
Thy slothful hands, which nothing have to give,
And ling'ring appetites no good receive.
Wake then from sleep, the spring of life improve,
Serve God below, seek happiness above.
PROUD man, inflam'd with vain desires,
Would dignify his name:
To lofty titles he aspires,
And courts the wings of fame.
See his ambition gratified,
His mem'ry long remains,
A lasting monument of pride,
That human nature stains.
UNITY OF GOD, AND GLORY OF CHRIST.
O'ER the Bible with pleasure I muse,
Its doctrines I scan with delight;
With joy I behold the good news,
Jehovah therein brings to light.
Yet oft' am I fill'd with surprize,
Mankind should so far disagree,
When Scripture most plainly implies,
"Our God, he is one," and not three.
Saint Paul, who, if rightly I ween,
Was wiser, far wiser, than they,
Extremes ever going between,
Thus simply the truth does display.
Of Jehovah are all things that are,
By Jesus the son of his love:
Of him, whose kind fatherly care
From his creatures will evil remove.
By him, under whom all are plac'd,
To whom even angels shall bow,
And all that thro' sin are disgrac'd,
By coercive means will bring low.
To whom, without measure was given,
To create, to uphold, to restore,
With dominion in hell, earth, and heav'n,
To him, thro' whom God we adore.
Whate'er he commands let us do,
Our prophet, our priest, and our king; The way that he trod let's pursue;
Then praise to his God we shall bring.
EARLY SINGING OF THE LARK.
WHILE night her empire still maintains,
Her silver queen unrival'd reigns,
And twinkling shine the stars :
Ere Sol adorns the eastern sky,
Or bids the mist and shadows fly,
Or burst the gloomy bars,
The lark, all wakeful, longs for day,
He pants to tread the aerial way,
The new-born light to meet:
Eager he stretches all his wings,
He strains his throat and sweetly sings,
The rising morn to greet.
No bed of sloth the songster knows,
His morning anthem cheerful flows,
In notes or soft or shrill.
Joyful the day he ushers in:
While slumbers bind the sons of men,
Joy through his organs thrill.
Thus may I wake and sing to thee,
Thou God of boundless majesty,
Thy goodness celebrate :
Thus with the dawn thy honours raise,
And through the day fulfil thy praise,
'Till ends this mortal state.
Like him, on faith's strong pinions rise,
Earth's low attractions all despise,
To heavenly things ascend:
Inflam'd with love I'd upward soar,
'Till days and nights exchange no more,
'Till time, old time, shall end.
Who, fatigued with Play, fell asleep with his Toys in his Hand.
SWEET babe! who, tired of mimic life,
Of gilded coaches, horses, painted carts,
And all the idle farce of empty show,
Careless, sinks down thy head, in slumbers soft,
The little labours of the day all o'er.
Enjoy, dear boy!" thy honey dew of sleep,"
I will not do thee so much wrong to wake thee.
O may'st thou, when life's real toil is past,
As guiltless, close thy wearied eyes in peace,
As innocent, smile at the simple world,
Its gilded nothings, and its painted cheats,
Whilst angels waft thee to immortal bliss.
Addressed to one who lived without God.
ATTEND, my friend, let early birds inspire
Thy grov'ling mind with pure celestial fire.
They from their temp'rate rest awake and pay
Their thankful anthems for the new-born day.
See where the tuneful lark is mounted high,
And, poet-like, salutes the eastern sky!
He warbles through the fragrant air his lays,
And seems the beauty of the morn to praise.
But man, more void of gratitude, awakes,
And gives no thanks for the sweet rest he takes;
Looks on the glorious sun's new-kindled flame,
Without one thought of him from whom it came.
The wretch unhallowed does the day begin,
Shakes off his sleep, but shakes not off his sin.
MINUTES and mercies multiplied,
Make up another day;
Minutes flow fast, but mercies flow
More fast, more sure than they!
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