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Pour forth in praife to him whofe hand
Doth univerfal love diffufe;
By instinct, prone to his command,
Unconsciously his will they chufe.

Where'er we turn our wand'ring eyes, What objects e'er our thoughts employ; Gay fcenes of common gladness rife, Infpiring universal joy.

Save where dull man, in penfive mien,
. Infenfible of all delight,
Sits wrapt in melancholy spleen,
And turns difgufted from the fight.

Offended at the joyous show,

That only galls his envious eye, He feels the burthen of his woe,

And views these pleasures with a figh.

Oh! happiness: thou common aim
Of all, purfu'd by all in vain,

Who fhall thy fcanty favours claim,

What happy man thy friendship gain?

Content, they say, from mankind fled,
Determin'd never to return;

To Heaven her upward flight she sped,
And left poor helpless man to mourn.

O gracious Heaven! why could'ft thou prove
Thus partial in the general plan,
Why in beneficence and love,

Produce fo poor a thing as man?

Why give fo many joys to please,
Why favours vainly thus employ?

The means of pleafure, and of eafe,
And difallow him to enjoy.

Why teams the earth with fhining mines,
Or why the gorgeous glare of ftate?
To man in vain their luftre fhines;
On man in vain their splendours wait.

Doth antient Eden ftill remain ?
Defire with reafon ftill difpute?
Doth man ftill covet, yet in vain,
To taste of the forbidden fruit?

Still in his heart, corroding care

Sits Gorgon like, his joys to fpoil,

No true content e'er fettles there;

Man's doom'd to mourn as well as toil.

Happy the fimple and the gay,

Who nought of fad reflection know; Life's dreary voyage they fport away,

Unknown to philofophic woe.

But, can philofophy e'er grieve?

That with ftrong reafoning guards the foul; Whofe hand fhould foothe each figh we heave,

Whofe voice thould every care controul.

Yes! fhe with heavier loads opprefs'd,
Than weak humanity can bear,
Serves but to harrafs more the breast,
Which sweet fimplicity would cheer.

Unconfcious of his greatness, man
Reign'd happy in primeval state;
Till thirft of knowledge first began

Thefe woes, he could but curse too late.

Too fenfible, the mind turns weak,
Unequal to the load it bears;

By felfith pride forbid to speak,

And tell the vulgar world it's cares.

Hard, hard, O Heaven, is fuch a state,
When keen affliction racks the breast;

When fhame forbids us to relate

The griefs with which the foul's oppreft.

No fecret friend, perchance is near,

No friend in whom we may confide; And tho' diftrefs the heart may tear,

'Tis but the fecret grief to hide.

What man's misfortunes, when disclos'd,
Meets more than public redicule;
Faith on a public faith repos'd,
Finds caufe to deem itself a fool.

But if a friend well-prov'd we find,
Difcretion bids us hold him dear ;
In him our cares are all confin'd,
We prove and warrant him fincere.

What eafe participation yields?
What joy communication lends?
This, from a fad despondence shields,
That, fweet perfuafive comfort fends.

The foul, difburthen'd of its load,
Now feels kind interval of rest,
Reliev'd from the heart piercing goad,
Soft gleams of pleasure thrill the breaft.

Friendship the wond'rous change performs, That power, that quells our every care; That calms the tempefts and the ftorms, That else our bofoms oft enfnare.

Grant, gracious Heaven; grant me a friend, 'Tis all I wifh, 'tis all I afk;

Let all his words and actions blend,

Nor wear diffimulation's mask.

What are the fplendours of the proud,
What the gay pageants of the great?
When mingled in the numerous croud,
How little then appears their state ?

A competence, O gracious Heaven!
Is all I feek, nor covet more;
This, bounteous God, to me when given,
Makes me the happieft of the poor.

Content with plenty; this is blifs;
"Tis virtue gives content in view;
That happiness we may not mifs,
Still virtue's path let us pursue.

Virtue gives happiness below,

Through her we every pleasure prove, 'Tis the protects from every woe,

'Tis virtue leads to Heaven above.

AN INVOCATION TO PEACE.

NOME gentle Peace, and with thy olive wand

COME

Shed thy fweet influence o'er a factious land; Restore to harmony yon hoftile plains, Where all around fad devaftation reigns: No more let rage infpiring trumpets blow, But clofe the long continued fcene of woe;

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