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And when I quite can fuit my taste,
Then is the time to feed and rest.”
Thus haft'ning with unsteady aim,
From bad to worse, in queft of game,
Again he crofs'd the fteady fnail,
Juft as it gain'd the propping rail
On which the downy plum repos'd,
The object which its journey clos'd.
"Ah, friend!" in turn the fnail exclaim'd,
"What's this I fee! the bank you nam'd
Is still unreach'd-though flow my pace,
I've beat you hollow in the race.
You hopping, vain, unfettled thing,
Lo, what avails your length of fpring?-
Had you like me purfu'd the line,
Unchanging from your firft defign,

?

Ere now you might have gain'd a cover,
And fed as I now do in clover.

MORAL.

The defultory miss the mark,

The steady find it in the dark.

To perfeverance all fubmit,

And dulness wins the prize from wit.

ADAM AND EVE's MORNING HYMN.

THESE are thy glorious works, Parent of good, Almighty, thine this univerfal frame,

Thus wond'rous fair; thyself how wond'rous then! Unfpeakable, who fitt'ft above the heavens

To us invifible, or dimly feen

In these thy lowest 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 midft, 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 smiling morn
With thy bright circlet, praise him in thy sphere,
While day arifes, that sweet hour of prime.
Thou fun, of this great world both eye and soul,
Acknowledge him thy greater, found his praise
In thy eternal courfe, both when thou climb'ft,
And when high noon hast gain'd, and when thou fall'st.
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 wand'ring 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 quaternian run
Perpetual circle, multiform; and mix

And nourish all things; let your ceafeless change
Vary to our great Maker ftill new praise.
Ye mifts and exhalations that now rife
From hill or ftreaming lake, dufky or grey,
Till the fun paint your fleecy skirts with gold,
In honour to the world's great Author rife!
Whether to deck with clouds th' uncolour'd sky,
Or wet the thirsty earth with falling fhowers,
Rifing or falling ftill advance his praife.

His praise ye winds, that from four quarters blow,
Breathe soft or loud; and wave your tops, ye pines,
With every 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 Heaven'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 stately 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 univerfal Lord! be bounteous ftill
To give us only good; and if the night
Have gather'd aught of evil, or conceal'd,
Difperfe it, as now light difpels the dark.

MILTON.

VERSES ON A TEAR.

OH! that the Chemift's magic art
Could cryftallize this facred treasure!
Long fhould it glitter near my heart,
A fecret fource of penfive pleasure.

The little brilliant ere it fell,

Its luftre caught from Chloe's eye! Then, trembling, left its coral cellThe fpring of Senfibility!

Sweet drop of pure and pearly light,
In thee the rays of Virtue shine;
More calmly clear, more mildly bright,
Than any gem that gilds the mine.

Benign reftorer of the foul!

Whoever fly'ft to bring relief, When first fhe feels the rude controul Of Love, or Pity, Joy or Grief.

The Sage's and the Poet's theme,
In ev'ry clime, in ev'ry age:
Thou charm'ft in Fancy's idle dream,.
In Reafon's philosophic page.

That law which moulds a tear,

very

And bids it trickle from its fource, That law-preferves the earth a sphere, And guides the planets in their course.

ROGERS.

A WISH.

MINE be a cot befide the hills

;

A bee-hive's hum fhall foothe my ear; A willowy brook, that turns a mill, With many a fall fhall linger near.

The fwallow, oft, beneath my thatch,
Shall twitter from her clay-built neft;

*The Law of Gravitation.

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