Who over all his wondrous works presides, And to their useful ends their causes guides: These paths in vain are by enquirers trod; There's no philosophy without a Gon. VII. THE HAPPY VILLAGER. VIRTUE dwells in Arden's Vale: There the golden smiles of morn Brighter every field adorn; There the sun's declining ray There the fountains clearer flow, Are the woes the bad bewail; And Phrensy smiling o'er her chain! Are in Arden's Vale unknown: For, with Peace and Virtue, there Lives the happy Villager! In his hospitable cell, Love, and Truth, and Freedom dwell; For with Peace and Virtue, there VIII. FLOWERS. He who delights to trace, with serious thought, And seeking humbler objects to pourtray, May find in such the theme of many a pleasing lay. What though the glorious Sun, enthroned on high, Far lowlier objects to the heart may reach, And Wisdom's purest precepts may disclose, Cull'd from the Lily's bloom, or gather'd from the Rose! Yes, you, delightful handy-works of HIM Before whose glory day's proud light is dim, You, too, instruct us, and with "line on line, You, as the changing Seasons roll along, Still wait on each, and added beauties lend :Around the smiling Spring a lovely throng With eager rivalry her steps attend; Others with Summer's brighter glories blend; Some grace mild Autumn's more majestic mien; While some few lingering blooms the brow befriend Of hoary Winter, and with grace serene Inwreath the King of storms with Mercy's gentler sheen. Nor do ye, while ye thus declare the flight Of Times and Seasons, want yet deeper lore; In you, with eager and unsated sight, The gentle Moralist may such explore :Even Religion's voice has heretofore Pointed a moral, and adorn'd a tale, By illustration from your ample store; Nor could such striking illustration fail, When thus the Saviour preach'd, his text the Lilies pale. "Consider ye the lilies of the field, Which neither toil nor spin,-not regal pride, In all its plenitude of pomp reveal'd, Could hope to charm, their beauties placed beside : If heavenly goodness thus for them provide, Which bloom to-day, and wither on the mor row, Shall not your wants be from your God supplied, Without your vain anxiety and sorrow, O ye of little faith!-from these a lesson bor row!" |