SECTION VIII.
A Morning Hymn.
THESE are thy glorious works, Parent of good,
Almighty, thine this univerfal frame,
Thus wondrous fair; thyself how wondrous then!
Unfpeakable, who fitt'ft above these heavens
To us, invifible, or dimly feen
In these thy lower works; yet these declare
Thy goodness beyond thought, and pow'r divine.
Speak ye, who beft can tell, ye fons of light,
Angels; for ye behold him, and with fongs
And choral fymphonies, day without night,
Circle his throne rejoicing; ye in heaven,
On earth, join all ye creatures to extol
Him firft, Him laft, Him midst, and without end.
Fairest of stars, laft in the train of night,
If better thou belong not to the dawn,
Sure pledge of day, that crown'st the fmiling morn
With thy bright circlet, praife him in thy fphere,
While day arifes, that fweet hour of prime.
Thou fun, of this great world, both eye and foul,
Acknowledge him thy greater, found his praise
In thy eternal courfe, both when thou climb'st,
And when high noon hast gain'd, and when thou fall'ft.
Moon, that now meet'ft the orient fun, now fly'st
With the fix'd stars, fix'd in their orb that flies ;
And ye five other wandering fires that move
In myftic dance, not without fong, refound
His praife, who out of darkness call'd up light.
Air, and ye elements, the eldest birth
Of nature's womb, that in quaternion runs
Perpetual circle, multiform, and mix
And nourish all things; let your ceafelefs change
Vary to our great MAKER ftill new praise.
Ye mifts and exhalations, that now rife
From hill or treaming lake, dusky or gray,
Till the fun paint your fleeey fkirts with gold,
In honour to the world's great AUTHOR rife!
Whether to deck with clouds th' uncolour'd fky,
Or wet the thirty earth with falling fhowers.
Rifing or falling, till advance his praise.
His praife, ye winds, that from four quarters blow,
Breathe foft or loud and wave your tops, ye pines,
With ev'ry plant in fign of worship wave.
Fountains, and ye that warble as ye flow
Melodious murmurs, warbling tune his praife.
Join voices, all ye living fouls; ye birds,
That finging up to heav'n's gate afcend,
Bear on your wings and in your notes his praise.
Ye that in waters glide, and ye that walk
The earth, and ftately tread, or lowly creep;
Witness if I be filent, morn or even,
To hill or valley, fountain, or fresh shade
Made vocal by my fong, and taught his praife.
Hail, UNIVERSAL Lord! be bounteous ftill
To give us only good; and if the night
Has gather'd aught of evil, or conceal'd,
Difperfe it, as now light difpels the dark.
THOU, the nymph with placid eye!
feldom found, yet ever nigh!
Receive my temperate vow:
Not all the ftorms that shake the pole
Can e'er disturb thy halcyon foul,
And fmooth th' unalter'd brow..
come, in fimpleft veft array'd,
With all thy fober cheer difplay'd,.
To bless my longing fight;
Thy mien compos'd, thy even pace,
Thy meek regard, thy matron grace,
And chafte fubdu'd delight.
No more by varying paffions beat,.
O gently guide my pilgrim feet
To find thy hermit cell;
Where in fome pure and equal sky,
Beneath thy foft indulgent eye,
The modeft virtues dwell.
Simplicity in attic veft,
And innocence with candid breast,
And clear undaunted eye
And Hope, who points to diftant years,
Fair op'ning through this vale of tears,
A vifta to the sky.
There Health thro' whofe calm bofom glide
The temperate joys, in even tide,
That yarely ebb or flow;
And Patience there, thy fifter meek,
Prefents her mild, unvarying cheek,
To meet the offer'd blow.
Her influence taught the Phrygian fage
A tyrant master's wanton rage,
With fettled fmiles to meet :
Inur'd to toil and bitter bread,
He bow'd his meek fubmitted head,
And kifs'd thy fainted feet.
But thou, O nymph, retir'd and coy!
In what brown hamlet doft thou joy
To tell thy tender tale;
The lowlieft children of the ground,
Mofs-rofe and voilet bloffom round,
And lily of the vale.
fay what foft propitious hour
I belt may choose to hail thy power,
And court thy gentle sway!
When autumn, friendly to the mufe,
Shall thy own modeft tints diffuse,
And fhed thy milder day?
When eve, her dewy ftar beneath,
Thy balmy fpirit loves to breathe,
And ev'ry form is laid?
If fuch an hour was e'er thy choice,
Oft let me hear thy foothing voice,
Low whifp'ring through the fhade. BARBAULD.
SECTION II.
The Shepherd and the Philofopher.
REMOTE from cities liv'd a fwain,
Unvex'd with all the cares of gain :
His head was filver'd o'er with age,
And long experience made him fage;
In fummer's heat, and winter's cold,
He fed his flock and penn'd the fold;
His hours in cheerful labour flew,
Nor envy nor ambition knew:
·His wifdom and his honest fame
Through all the country rais'd his name.
A deep philosopher (whofe rules
Of moral life were drawn from schools)
The fhepherd's homely cottage fought,
And thus explor'd his reach of thought.
"Whence is thy learning? Hath thy toil
O'er books confum'd the midnight oil?
Haft thou old Greece and Rome furvey'd,
And the vaft fenfe of Plato weigh'd?
Hath Socrates thy foul refin'd,
And haft thou fathom'd Tully's mind?-
Or like the wife Ulyffes, thrown,
By various fates, on realms unknown,
Halt thou through many cities ftray'd,
Their customs, laws, and manners weigh'd ?”
The thepherd modeftly reply'd,
"I ne'er the paths of learning try'd;
Nor have I roam'd in foreign parts,
To read mankind, their laws and arts;
For man is practis'd in disguise,
He cheats the most difcerning eyes.
Who by that fearch fhall wifer grow ?
By that ourselves we never know.
The little knowledge I have gain'd
Was all from fimple nature drain'd;
Hence my life's maxims took their rise,
Hence grew my fettled hate of vice.
The daily labours of the bee
Awake my foul to induftry.
Who can observe the careful ant,
And not provide for future want?
My dog (the truftieft of his kind)
With gratitude inflames my mind:
I mark his true, his faithful way,
And in my service copy Tray.
In conftancy and nuptial love,
I learn my duty from the dove.
The hen, who from the chilly air,
With pious wing protects her care,
And every fowl that flies at large,
Inftructs me in a parent's charge.
From nature too I take my rule,
To fhun contempt and ridicule.
I never, with important air,
In converfation overbear.
Can grave and formal pass for wife,
When men the folemn owl despise ?
My tongue within my lips I rein;
For who talks-much muft talk in vain.
We from the wordy torrent fly :
Who liftens to the chatt'ring pye ?
Nor would I, with felonious flight,
By ftealth invade my neighbour's right;
Rapacious animals we hate ;
Kites, hawks, and wolves, deferve their fate.
Do not we just abhorrence find
Against the toad and ferpent kind?
But envy, calumny, and spite,
Bear ftronger venom in their bite.
Thus ev'ry object of creation
Can furnish hints to contemplation;
And from the most minute and mean,
A virtuous mind can morals glean."
"Thy fame is juft," the fage replies;
"Thy virtue proves thee truly wife.
Pride often guides the author's pen,
Books as affected are as men :
But he who ftudies nature's laws,
From certain truth his maxims draws;
And thofe, without our schools, fuffice
To make men moral, good and wife"
The Road to Happiness open to all Men.
OH happiness! our being's end and aim!
-Good, pleasure, eafe, content! whate'er thy name;
That fomething ftill which prompts th' eternal figh,
For which we bear to live, or dare to die;
Which ftill fo near us, yet beyond us lies,
O'erlook'd, feen double, by the fool and wife;
Plant of celeftial feed, if dropt below,
Say, in what mortal foil thou deign't to grow?
Fair op'ning to fome court's propitious fhine,
Or deep with di'monds in the flaming mine?
Twin'd with the wreaths Parnaffian laurels yield,
Or reap'd in iron harvefts of the field?
Where grows where grows it not? if vain our toil, We ought to blame the culture, not the foil.
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