And when the air with heat meridian glows,

And Nature droops beneath the conquering gleam, Let us flow wandering where the current flows, Save finking flies that float along the ftream.

Or turn to nobler, greater tasks thy care,
To me thy fympathetic gifts impart ;
Teach me in Friendship's griefs to bear a fhare:
And justly boast the generous, feeling heart.

Teach me to foothe the helpless orphan's grief,
With timely aid the widow's woes affuage,
To Mifery's moving cries to yield relief,
And be the fure refource of drooping age,

So when the genial spring of life shall fade,
And finking mature owns the dread decay,
Some foul congenial then may lend it's aid,
. And gild the close of life's eventful day.

H

CONGUGAL FELICITY.

BY THOMSON.

APPY they the happiest of their kind! Whom gentler ftars unite, and in one fate Their hearts, their fortunes, and their beings blend. 'Tis not the coarfer tie of human laws,

Unnatural oft and foreign to the mind,
That binds their peace, but harmony itself,'
Attuning all their paffions into love;

Where Friendship full exerts her fofteft power,
Perfect esteem, enlivened by defire

Ineffable, and fympathy of foul ;'

Thought meeting thought, and will preventing will. With boundless confidence: for nought but love Can answer love, and render blifs fecure.

-What is the world to them

Its pomp, its pleasure, aud its nonsense all!
Who in each other clasp whatever fair
High fancy forms, and lavish hearts can wish;
Something than beauty dearer, should they look
Or in the mind, or mind-illumin'd face;
Truth, goodness, honour harmony and love,
The richest bounty of indulgent Heav'n?
Mean time a fmiling offspring rifes round,
And mingles both their gracs. By degrees
The human bloffom blows; and every day,
Soft as it rolls along, fhews fome new charm,
The father's luftre, and the mother's bloom.
Then infant reafon grows apace and calls
For the kind hand of an affiduous care
Delightful task! to rear the tender thought,
To teach the young idea how to shoot,
To pour the fresh instruction o'er the mind.

To breathe th' enlivening spirit, and to fix
The generous purpose in the glowing breast.
Oh fpeak the joy! ye whom the fudden tear
Surprises often, while you look around,
And nothing strikes your eye but fights of bliss,
All various nature preffing on the heart:
An elgant fufficiency, content,
Retirement, rural quiet, friendship, books,
Eafe and alternate labour, useful life,
Progreffive virtue, and approving Heaven.
These are the matchless joys of virtuous love;
And thus their moments fly, The feasons thus,
As ceafelefs round a jarring world they roll,
Still find them happy; and confenting Spring
Sheds her own rofy garland on their heads;
'Till evening comes at laft, ferene and mild,
When, after the long vernal day of life,
Enamour'd more, as more remembrance (wells
With many a proof of recollected love,
Together down they fink in focial sleep:
Together freed, their gentle fpirits fly

To fcenes where love and blifs immortal reign,

MORNING HYMN,

BY MILTON.

HESE are thy glorious works, Parent of good,
Almighty, thine this universal frame,

THE

Thus wondrous fair; thyfelf how wonderous then!
Unfpeakable, who fitt'ft above these 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 first, 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'ft the fmiling morn
With thy bright circlet, praise him in thy sphere,
While day arifes, that fweet hour of prime.
Thou fun, of this great world both eye and soul,
Acknowledge him thy greater, found his praise
In thy eternal course, both when thou climb't
And when high noon haft gain'd, and when thou fall'st,
Moon, that now meet'ft the orient fun, now fly'ft,
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 praise, who out of darkness call'd up light.
Air, and ye elments, the eldeft birth

Of Nature's womb, that in quaternion run
Perpetual circle, multiform, and mix

And nourish all things: let your ceaseless change
Vary to our great Maker ftill new praise.
Ye mifts and exhalations that now rife
From hill or fteaming lake, dusky or gray,
Till the fun paint yon fleecy skirts with gold,
In honouur 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 praise.

His praise ye winds, that from four quarters blow,
Breathe foft 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 praise
Join voices, all ye living fouls; ye birds,
That finging up to heaven's gate ascend,
Bear on your wings and in your notes his praife.
Ye that in water glide, and ye that walk›
The earth, and stately tread, or lowly creep;
Witnefs if I be filent, morn or even,
To hill or valley fountain, or fresh shade
Made vocal by my fong, and taught his praise.