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Or pining LOVE, fhall wafte their youth,
Or JEALOUSY, with rankling tooth,

That inly gnaws the fecret heart;
And ENVY wan, and faded CARE,
Grim-vifag'd, comfortless DESPAIR,
And SORROW's piercing dart.
AMBITION this fhall tempt to rife,
Then whirl the wretch from high,
To bitter SCORN a facrifice,
And grinning INFAMY.

The flings of FALSEHOOD thofe fhall try,
And hard UN KINDNESS' alter'd eye,

That mocks the tear it forc'd to flow; And keen REMORSE with blood defil'd, And, moody MADNESS, laughing wild, Amid fevereft woe.

Lo! in the vale of years, beneath,
A grily troop, are feen,

The painful family of DEATH,

More hideous than their queen : This racks the joints, this fires the veins; That ev'ry lab'ring finew ftrains,

Thofe in the deeper vitals rage:
Lo! POVERTY, to fill the band,
That numbs the foul with icy hand,
And flow-confuming age.

To each his fuff'rings: all are MEN,
Condemn'd alike to groan;

The tender for another's pain,

Th' unfeeling for his own.

Yet, ah! why should they know their fate?
Since SORROW never comes too late,
And HAPPINESS too fwiftly flies:
THOUGHT would destroy their paradife.
No more-where IGNORANCE is blifs,
"Tis folly to be wife.

ADAM'S MORNING HYMN.

THESE are thy glorious works, parent of good!
Almighty thine this univerfal frame:

Thus wond'rous fair! thyfelf how wond'rous then?
Unfpeakable, who fitt'ft above these heav'ns,
To us invifible, or dimly feen

In thefe thy loweft works; yet thefe declare
Thy goodnefs 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 heav'n,
On earth, join all ye creatures to extol
Him first, him laft, him midft, and without end.
Faireft of fiars, 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, praife him in thy fphere,
While day arifes, that fweet hour of prime.
Thou SUN, of this great world both eye and foul,
Acknowledge him thy greater; found his praise
In thy eternal courfe, both when thou climb'ft,
And when high-noon haft gain'd, and when thou
fall'ft.

MOON, that now meet'ft the orient SUN, now fly'st
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 praife, who out of darknefs call'd up light;
AIR, and ve ELEMENTS, the eldest birth
Of nature's womb, that in quaternion run,
Perpetual circle, multiform, and mix,

And nourish all things; let your ceafeless change
Vary to our great maker ftill new praise.
Ye MISTS and EXHALATIONS that now rife
From hill or ftreaming lake, dusky or gray,
Till the SUN paint your fleecy fkirts with gold,
In honour to the world's great author rife!
Whether to deck with clouds th' uncolour'd fky
Or wet the thirfty earth with falling fhow'rs,

Rifing or falling ftill advance his praise !

His praife, ye WINDS, that from four quarters blow,
Breathe foft or loud; and wave your tops, ye pines,
With ev'ry 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 heav'n's-gate ascend,
Bear on your wings and in your notes his praife!
Ye that in waters glide, and ye that walk
The earth, and ftately tread or lowly creep;
Witnefs if I be filent, morn or even,

To hill, or valley, fountain, or fresh fhade,
Made vocal by my fong, and taught his praise,
Hail, univerfal Lord! be bount'ous ftill,
To give us only GOOD; and if the night
Have gather'd aught of EVIL, or conceal'd,
Difperfe it, as now light difpels the dark.

EPILOGUE,

AN honeft crew, difpos'd to be merry,

Came to a tavern by, and call'd for wine: The draw'r brought it (fmiling like a cherry) And told them it was pleafant, neat, and fine: Tafte it, quoth one: he did;-oh, fie! quoth he, "This wine was good; now't turns too near the lee." Another fipp'd, to give the wine its due,

And faid unto the reft," it drank too flat;" The third, faid "it was old;" the fourth, "too new;" Nay, faid the fifth, "the fharpnefs likes me not.' Thus, gentlemen, you fee, how in one hour, The wine was new, old, flat, fharp, fweet, and four. Thefe POEMS, to this wine allude we may;

Which fome will think too trivial, fome too grave; You, as our guests, we entertain: and fay,

You're kindly welcome to the beft we have, Excufe us, then; good wine may be difgrac'd, When ev'ry mouth hath got a diff'rent taste.

FINIS.

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