Pour forth in praife to him whofe hand 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, 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 Who fhall thy fcanty favours claim, What happy man thy friendship gain? Content, they say, from mankind fled, To Heaven her upward flight she sped, O gracious Heaven! why could'ft thou prove Produce fo poor a thing as man? Why give fo many joys to please, The means of pleafure, and of eafe, Why teams the earth with fhining mines, Doth antient Eden ftill remain ? 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, Unconfcious of his greatness, man Thefe woes, he could but curse too late. Too fenfible, the mind turns weak, By felfith pride forbid to speak, And tell the vulgar world it's cares. Hard, hard, O Heaven, is fuch a state, 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, But if a friend well-prov'd we find, What eafe participation yields? The foul, difburthen'd of its load, 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, A competence, O gracious Heaven! Content with plenty; this is blifs; 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; |