"How shall you know my creed's sincere, "Unless in works my faith appear?
"How shall I know a tree's alive,
"Unless I see it bear and thrive?
"Your works not growing on my root, "Would prove they were not genuine fruit. "If faith produce no works, I see, "That faith is not a living tree. "Thus faith and works together grow, "No separate life they e'er can know : "They're soul and body, hand and heart, "What God hath join'd, let no man part."
Two gardeners once beneath an oak,
Lay down to rest, when Jack thus spoke-
"You must confess, dear Will, that Nature
"Is but a blund'ring kind of creature;
"And I-nay, why that look of terror?
"Could teach her how to mend her error."
"Your talk," quoth Will, "is bold and odd,
"What you call Nature, I call God."
"Well, call him by what name you will,"
Quoth Jack, "he manages but ill;
"Nay, from the very tree we're under,
"I'll prove that Providence can blunder."
Quoth Will, "Through thick and thin you dash,
"I shudder, Jack, at words so rash;
"I trust to what the Scriptures tell,
"He hath done always all things well."
Quoth Jack, "I'm lately grown a wit,
"And think all good a lucky hit.
"To prove that Providence can err,
"Not words, but facts, the truth aver.
"To this vast oak lift up thine eyes,
"Then view that acorn's paltry size;
"How foolish! on a tree so tall,
"To place that tiny cup and ball.
"Now look again, yon pompion* see,
"It weighs two pounds at least, nay three;
"Yet this large fruit, where is it found?
"Why, meanly trailing on the ground.
"Had Providence ask'd my advice,
"I would have changed it in a trice;
"I would have said, at nature's birth,
"Let acorns creep upon the earth;
"But let the pompion, vast and round,
"On the oak's lofty boughs be found."
He said-and as he rashly spoke,
Lo! from the branches of the oak,
A wind, which suddenly arose,
Beat show'rs of acorns on his nose;
"Oh! oh!" quoth Jack, "I'm wrong I see,
"And God is wiser far than me.
"For did a shower of pompions large,
"Thus on my naked face discharge,
"I had been bruis'd and blinded quite,
"What Heaven appoints I find is right:
"Whene'er I'm tempted to rebel,
"I'll think how light the acorns fell;
"Whereas on oaks had pompions hung,
"My broken skull had stopp'd my tongue."
*** It is evident that this excellent and instructive tale was constructed by the author, as an improvement of the following anonymous fable, which appeared in the London Chronicle for the year 1764. The moral is the same, but there is no plagiarism.-ED.
THE ATHEIST AND THE ACORN.
[Methinks this world is oddly made
And every thing amiss;
A dull complaining Atheist said,
As stretch'd he lay beneath a shade,
And instanced in this.
"Behold," quoth he, "that mighty thing,
A pumpkin large and round,
Is held but by a little string,
Which upward cannot make it spring,
Nor bear it from the ground.
While on this tree a fruit, so small,
So disproportion'd grows,
That whosoe'er surveys this all,
This universal casual ball,
Its ill contrivance knows.
My better judgment would have hung
That fruit upon this tree,
And left this nut thus slightly strung,
'Mongst things that on the surface sprung,
And weak and feeble be.
No more the caviller could say,
No further faults descry,
For upward gazing as he lay,
An acorn, loosen'd from its stay,
Fell down upon his eye.
The wounded part with tears ran o'er,
As punish'd for the sin,
Fool! had that bough a pumpkin bore,
Thy whimsies would have work'd no more,
Nor skull have kept them in.]
A WORTHY Squire of sober life,
Had a conceited boasting wife;
Of him she daily made complaint,
Herself she thought a very saint.
She lov'd to load mankind with blame,
And on their errors build her fame.
Her fav'rite subject of dispute
Was Eve and the forbidden fruit.
"Had I been Eve," she often cried,
"Man had not fall'n, nor woman died;
"I still had kept the orders giv❜n,
"Nor for an apple lost my heaven;
"To gratify my curious mind
"I ne'er had ruin'd all mankind;
"Nor from a vain desire to know,
"Entail'd on all my race such wo."
The squire replied, "I fear 'tis true,
"The same ill spirit lives in you;
"Tempted alike, I dare believe,
"You would have disobey'd, like Eve."
The lady storm'd, and still denied
Sin, curiosity, and pride.
The squire, some future day at dinner, Resolved to try this boastful sinner; He griev'd such vanity possess'd her, And thus in serious terms address'd her: "Madam, the usual splendid feast, "With which our wedding-day is graced, "With you I must not share to-day, For business summons me away.
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