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As men who long in prifon dwell,
With lamps that glimmer round the cell,
When-e'er their suff'ring years are run,
Spring forth to greet the glitt'ring fun :
Such joy, tho' far transcending fense,
Have pious fouls at parting hence.
On earth, and in the body plac'd,
A few, and evil years, they wafte :
But when their chains are caft afide,
See the glad scene unfolding wide,
Clap the glad wing, and tow'r away,
And mingle with the blaze of day.


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OVELY, lafting peace of mind!


Sweet delight of human kind!

Heav'nly born, and bred on high,
To crown the fav'rites of the sky
With more of happiness below,
Than victors in a triumph know!
Whither, O whither art thou fled,
To lay thy meek, contented head?
What happy region dost thou please
To make the feat of calms and ease?

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Ambition searches all its sphere
Of pomp and state, to meet thee there.
Encreafing avarice would find
Thy presence in its gold inshrin'd.
The bold advent'rer ploughs his way,
Thro' rocks amidst the foaming fea,
To gain thy love; and then perceives


Thou wert not in the rocks and waves.


The filent heart which grief affails,
Treads foft and lonesome o'er the vales,
Sees daifies open, rivers run,

And feeks, (as I have vainly done,)
Amusing thought; but learns to know
That folitude's the nurse of woe.
No real happiness is found

In trailing purple o'er the ground:
Or in a foul exalted high,

To range the circuit of the sky,

Converse with stars above, and know
All nature in its forms below;

The reft it feeks, in feeking dies,
And doubts at laft for knowledge rife..

Lovely, lafting peace appear!
This world itself, if thou art here,
Is once again with Eden bleft,

And man contains it in his breast.

'Twas thus, as under shade I stood,

I fung my wishes to the wood,



And loft in thought, no more perceiv'd
The branches whisper as they wav'd:
It feem'd, as all the quiet place
Confefs'd the presence of the Grace.
When thus fhe spoke-Go rule thy will,

Bid thy wild paffions all be still,

Know God--and bring thy heart to know,
The joys which from religion flow:
Then ev'ry Grace shall prove its Guest,
And I'll be there to crown the rest.

Oh! by yonder moffy feat,
In my hours of sweet retreat;
Might I thus my foul employ,
With fense of gratitude and joy:
Rais'd as ancient prophets were,
In heav'nly vifion, praise, and pray'r ;
Pleafing all men, hurting none,
Pleas'd and blefs'd with God alone:
Then while the gardens take my fight,

With all the colours of delight;

While filver waters glide along,

To please my ear, and court my fong:
I'll lift my voice, and tune my ftring,
And thee, great Source of Nature, fing.

The fun that walks his airy way,

To light the world, and give the day;
The moon that fhines with borrow'd light ;.
The ftars that gild the gloomy night;
The feas that roll unnumber'd waves;
The wood that spreads its fhady leaves;
The field whofe ears conceal the grain,
The yellow treasure of the plain ;
All of these, and all I see,
Shou'd be fung, and fung by me :
They speak their Maker as they can,
But want and ask the tongue of man.

Go fearch among your idle dreams,
Your bufy, or your vain extreams ;
And find a life of equal blifs,
Or own the next begun in this..


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