The thick-fprung reeds the wat'ry marshes yield, The ftag in limpid currents, with furprize, The fpreading oak, the beach, and tow'ring pine, The frighted birds the rattling branches fhun, The brittle foreft into atoms flies: The crackling wood beneath the tempeft bends, And journeys fad beneath the dropping trees. Copenhagen, March 9th, 1709. 90 THE FIRE-SIDE. BY DR. COTTON. I. DEAR Chloe, while the bufy crowd, Though fingularity and pride Be call'd our choice, we'll ftep afide, IL From the gay world we'll oft retire Where love our hours employs; III. If folid happiness we prize, And they are fools who roam: The world has nothing to bestow, And that dear hut, our home. IV. Of reft was Noah's dove bereft, When with impatient wing the left, That fafe retreat, the ark; Giving her vain excurfion o'er, The disappointed bird once more Explor'd the facred bark. V. Though fools fpurn hymen's gentle pow'rs, We, who improve his golden hours, By fweet experience know, That marriage, rightly understood, Gives to the tender and the good A paradife below. VI. Our babes fhall richest comforts bring, We'll form their minds with ftudious care, And train them for the skies. VII. While they our wifeft hours engage, They'll grow in virtue every day, And recompenfe our cares.. No borrow'd joys! they're all our own, While to the world we live unknown, Or by the world forgot: Monarchs! we envy not your state, And blefs our humbler lot. IX. Our portion is not large indeed, For nature's calls are few! In this the art of living lies, To want no more than may fuffice, And make that little do. X. We'll therefore relish with content Nor lofe the present hour. To be refign'd, when ills betide, And pleas'd with favours giv'n, Whofe fragrance fmells to heav'n, We'll afk no long protracted treat, (Since winter life is feldom fweet;) But when our feaft is o'er, Grateful from table we'll arife, Nor grudge our fons with envious eyes, The relics of our store. XIII. Thus hand in hand through life we'll go, And mingle with the dead. XIV. While confcience, like a faithful friend, ADAM'S MORNING HYMN. THESE BY MILTON HESE are thy glorious works, Parent of good, Almighty! thine this univerfal frame, Thus wondrous fair; thyfelf how wondrous then! Unfpeakable, who fitt'ft above these heav'ns, |