The God that made both fky, air, earth, and heav'n.
Which they beheld, the moon's refplendent globe,
And ftarry pole: thou also mad'ft the night,
Maker omnipotent, and thou the day,
Which we in our appointed work employ'd
Have finish'd, happy in our mutual help,
And mutual love the crown of all our blifs
Ordain'd by thee; and this delicious place
For us too large, where, thy abundance wants
Partakers, and uncropt falls to the ground.
But thou haft promis'd from us two a race
To fill the earth, who fhall with us extol
Thy goodness infinite, both when we wake,
And when we feek, as now, thy gift of fleep.

DAY.

BY CUNNINGHAM.

MORNING.

"N the barn the tenant cock.

IN

Close to Partlet perch'd on high,

Brifkly crows, the fhepherd's clock,)
Jocund that the morning's nigh.

Swiftly from the mountain's brow
Shadows, nurs'd by night retire;
And the peeping fun-beam, now
Paints with gold the village fpire.

Philomel forfakes the thorn,
Plaintive where the prates at night;
And the lark, to meet the morn,
Soars beyond the shepherd's fight.

From the low roof'd cottage ridge,

See the chatt'ring swallow spring; Darting through the one-arch'd bridge, Quick she dips her dappled wing.

Now the pine-tree's waving top Gently greets the morning gale: Kidlings, now, begin to crop Dailies, on the dewy dale.

From the balmy fweets, uncloy'd,
(Reflefs till her task be done)
Now the bufy bee's employ'd,
Sipping dew before the fun.

Trickling through the crevic'd rock,
Where the limpid ftream diftils
Sweet refreshment waits the flock,
When 'tis fun-drove from the hills.

Colin's for the promis'd corn

(Ere the harvest hopes are ripe) Anxious; whilft the huntsman's horn, Boldly founding, drowns his pipe.

G

Sweet-O fweet the warbling throng.
On the white embloffom'd spray!
Nature's univerfal fong

Echoes to the rifing day.

NOON.

>FERVID on the glitt'ring flood, Now the noontide radiance glows: Drooping o'er its infant bud,

Not a dew-drop's left the rofe.

By the brook the fhepherd dines,
From the fierce meridian heat
Shelter'd by the branching pines,
Pendant o'er his graffy feat.

"Now the flock forfakes the glade, Where uncheck'd the fun-beams fall; Sure to find a pleafing fhade

By the ivy'd abby wall.

Echo, in her airy round,

O'er the river, rock and hill,
Cannot catch a fingle found,
Save the clack of yonder mill.

Cattle court the Zephyr's bland,
Where the ftreamlet wanders cool,
Or with languid filence ftand
Midway in the marshy pool.

But from mountain, dell or ftream,

Not a flutt'ring Zephyr fprings; Fearful left the noon-tide beam Scorch it's foft, it's filken wings.

Not a leaf has leave to ftir,

Nature's lull'd- ferene-and still
Quiet e'en the fhepherd's cur,
Sleeping on the heath-clad hill.

Languid is the landscape round,
Till the fresh- defcending fhower,-
Grateful to the thirsty ground,
Raifes ev'ry fainting flower,

Now the hill-the hedge-is green,

Now the warblers' throat's in tune; Blithfome is the verdant fcene, Brighten'd by the beams of Noon.

EVENING.

O'ER the heath the heifer ftrays
Free (the furrow'd task is done ;)
Now the village windows blaze,
Burnish'd by the fetting fun.

Now he fets behind the hill,
Sinking from a golden fky.
Can the pencil's mimic skill
Copy the refulgent dye?

Trudging as the ploughmen ge,

To the smoking hamlet bound) Giant-like their fhadows grow, Lengthen'd o'er the level ground.

Where the rifing foreft fpreads
Shelter for the lordly dome!
To their high-built airy beds,
See the rooks returning home;

As the lark with vary'd tune,
Carrols to the evening loud;
Mark the mild refplendent moon.
Breaking through a parted cloud!

Now the hermit howlet peeps

From the barn or twifted brake And the blue mift flowly creeps, Curling on the filver lake.

As the trout in fpeckled pride,
Playful from it's bofom fprings;

To the banks, a ruffled tide
Verges in fucceffive rings.

Tripping through the filken grafs,
O'er the path divided dale,

Mark the rofe-complexion'd lafs
With her well pois'd milking pail!