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So God has greatly purposed; who would elfe
In his difhonoured works himself endure
Dishonour, and be wrong'd without redress,
Hafte then, and wheel away a shatter'd world,
Ye flow revolving feafons! We would fee,
(A fight to which our eyes are ftrangers yet)
A world that does not dread and hate his laws,
And fuffer for its crime: would learn how fair
The creature is that God pronounces good,
How pleasant in itself what pleases him.

Here ev'ry drop of honey hides a fting,.

Worms wind themfelves into our sweetest flow'rs,
And ev'n the joy that haply fome
poor heart
Derives from Heav'n, pure as the fountain is,
Is fullied in the ftream; taking a taint
From touch of human lips, at beft impure.
Oh for a world in principle as chafte
As this is grofs and selfish! over which
Custom and prejudice fhall bear no fway
That govern all things here, fhould'ring afide
The meek and modeft Truth, and forcing her
To feek a refuge from the tongue of Strife
In nooks obfcure, far from the ways of men;
Where violence fhall never lift the fword,
Nor cunning justify the proud man's wrong,
Leaving the poor no remedy but tears.
Where he that fills an office, shall efteem
Th' occafion it prefents of doing good

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More than the perquifite. Where law shall speak
Seldom or never but as wifdom prompts

And equity; not jealous more to guard
A worthless form, than to decide aright.
Where fashion fhall not fanctify abuse,

Nor finooth good-breeding (fupplemental grace)
With lean performance ape the work of love.

T

HYMN

on the

SEASONS.

BY THOMSON.

HESE, as they change, Almighty Father, thefe Are but the VARIED God. The rolling year Is full of Thee. Forth in the pleafing Spring Thy beauty walks, thy tenderness and love. Wide flush the fields; the foftening air is balm; Echo-the mountains round; the foreft fmiles ; And every fenfe and every heart is joy: Then comes thy glory in the fummer months, With light and heat refulgent. Then thy fun Shoots full perfection thro' the fwelling year: And oft thy voice in dreadful thunder fpeaks, And oft at dawn, deep noon, or falling eve, By brooks and groves, in hollow-whifp'ring gales,

Thy beauty fhines in Autumn unconfin❜d,
And spreads a common feast for all that lives,
In Winter awful Thou! with clouds and ftorms
Around thee thrown, tempeft o'er tempeft roll'd,
Majestic darknefs! on the whirlwind's wing,
Riding fublime, Thou bidft the world adore,
And humbleft nature with thy northern blast,
Myfterious round; what fkill, what force divine
Deep-felt, in these appear! a fimple train,
Yet fo delightful mix'd, with fuch kind art,
Such beauty and beneficence combin’d;
Shade, unperceiv'd, fo foftening into fhade;
And all fo forming an harmonious whole;
That as they still fucceed, they ravish still.
But wandering oft, with rude unconscious gaze,
Man marks not Thee, marks not the mighty hand
That, ever busy wheels the filent fpheres;
Works in the fecret deep; fhoots fteaming thence
The fair profufion that o'er spreads the Spring;
Flings from the fun direct the flaming day;
Feeds ev'ry creature; hurls the tempeft forth;
And, as on earth this grateful change revolves,
With tranfport touches all the fprings of life.

Nature, attend; join, every living foul
Beneath the fpacious temple of the sky,
In adoration join; and ardent raise

One general fong; To Him, ye vocal gales,

Breathe foft, whose Spirit in your freshness breathes :

Oh talk of Him in folitary glooms;

Where o'er the rock the fcarcely waving pine
Fills the brown shade with a religious awe!

And ye, whose bolder note is heard afar,

Who shake th' aftonish'd world, lift high to heav'n
Th' impetuous fong, and fay from whom you rage.
His praife, ye brooks, attune, ye trembling rills;
And let me catch it as I muse along.

Ye head long torrents, rapid and profound;
Ye fofter floods, that lead the humid maze
Along the vale; and thou, majestic main,
A fecret world of wonders in thyself,

Sound his ftupendous praise, whose greater voice
Or bids you roar, or bids your roarings fall.
So roll your incenfe, herbs, and fruits, and flowers,
In mingled clouds to Him, whose pencil paints.
Ye forefts bend, ye harvests wave, to Him;
Breathe your still song into the reaper's heart,
As home he goes beneath the joyous moon.
Ye that keep watch in heav'n, as earth asleep
Unconscious lies, effufe your mildest beams,
Ye conftellations, while your angels strike,
Amid the fpangled sky, the filver lyre.
Great fource of day! best image here below
Of thy Creator, ever pouring wide.

From world to world, the vital ocean found,
On nature write with every beam his praise,

The thunder rolls; be hush'd the proftrate world
While cloud to cloud returns the folemn hymn.
Bleat out afresh ye hills, ye moffy rocks,
Retain the found: the broad reponfive low, `
Ye vallies, raife: for the Great Shepherd reign's
And his unfuff'ring kingdom yet will come.
Ye woodlands all! awake: a boundless song
Burft from the groves; and when the restless day,
Expiring, lays the warbling world afleep,

Sweetest of birds! fweet Philomela! charm
The lift'ning fhades, and teach the Night his praise,
Ye, chief, for whom the whole creation fmiles,
At once the head, the heart, and tongue of all,
Crown the great hymn! in swarming cities vaft,
Affembled men! to the deep organ join
The long-refounding voice, oft breaking clear,
At folemn paufes, through the fwelling bafe,
And as each mingling flame increases each,
In one united ardour rife to heaven.
Or if you rather chuse the rural shade,
And find a fane in every facred grove :
There let the fhepherd's flute, the virgin's lay,
The prompting Seraph, and the Poet's lyre,
Still fing the God of feafons as they`roll.

For me,
when I forget the darling theme,
Whether the bloffom blows, the fummer ray
Ruffets the plain, infpiring Autumn gleams
Or Winter rifes in the blackening Eaft.

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