For her amaffes an unbounded store,
The wifdom of great nations, now no more,
Though laden, not incumber'd with her spoil,
Laborious, yet unconscious of her toil,
When copiously supply'd, then most enlarg'd,
Still to be fed, and not to be furcharg'd.
For her, the fancy roving unconfin'd,
The prefent mufe of ev'ry penfive mind,
Works magic wonders, adds a brighter hue
To nature's fcenes, than nature ever knew,,
At her command, winds rife, and waters roar,
Again, the lays them flumb'ring on the shore,
With flow'r and fruit the wilderness fupplies,
Or bids the rocks in ruder pomp arise.
For her, the judgment, umpire in the ftrife,
That grace and nature have to wage through life,
Quick-fighted arbiter of good and ill,
Appointed fage preceptor to the will,
Condemns, approves, and with a faithful voice,
Guides the decifion of a doubtful choice.
Why did the fiat of a God give birth
To yon fair fun, and his attendant earth,
And when defcending he refigns the fkies,
Why takes the gentler moon her turn to rife,
Whom ocean feels through all his countless waves,
And owns her pow'r on ev'ry thore he laves?
Why do the seasons still enrich the year,
Fruitful and young as in their first career?
Spring hangs her infant bloffoms on the trees,
Rock'd in the cradle of the western breeze,
Summer in hafte the thriving charge receives,
Beneath the fhade of her expanded leaves,
'Till autumn's fiercer heats and plenteous dews
Dye them at laft in all their glowing hues.
'Twere wild profufion all, and bootlefs wafte,
Pow'r milemploy'd, munificence mifplac'd,
Had not its author dignify'd the plan,
And crown'd it with the majefty of man.
Thus form'd, thus plac'd, intelligent, and taught,
Look where he will, the wonders God has wrought,
The wildeft fcorner of his Maker's laws
Finds in a fober moment time to pause,
To prefs th' important queftion on his heart,
Why form'd at all, and wherefore as thou art ?”
If man be what he féems, this hour a flave,
The next mere duft and affes in the grave,
Endu'd with reafon only to defcry
His crimes and follies with an aching eye,
With paffions, just that he may prove with pain,
The force he spends against their fury, vain,
And if foon after having burnt by turns
With ev'ry luft with which frail nature burns,
His being end where death diffolves the bond,
The tomb take all, and all be blank beyond,
Then he, of all that nature has brought forth,
Stands felf-impeach'd the creature of leaft worth,
And ufelefs while he lives, and when he dies,
Brings into doubt the wisdom of the fkics.
Truths that the learn'd purfue with eager thought
Are not important always as dear-bought,
Proving at laft, though told in pompous trains,
A childish wafte of philofophic pains;
But truths on which depends our main concern,
That 'tis our shame and mis'ry not to learn,
Shine by the fide of ev'ry path we tread
With fuch a luftre, he that runs may read.
'Tis true, that if to trifle life away
Down to the fun-fet of their latest day,
Then perifh on futurity's wide shore
Like flecting exhalations, found no more,
Were all that heav'n requir'd of human kind,
And all the plan their destiny defign'd,
What none could rev'rence all might justly blame,
And man would breathe but for his Maker's shame.
But reafon heard, and nature well perus'd,
At once the dreaming mind is difabus'd.
If all we find poffeffing earth, fea, air,
Reflect his attributes who plac'd them there,
Fulfil the purpofe, and appear defign'd
Proofs of the wisdom of th' all-feeing mind,
'Tis plain, the creature whom he chofe t'inveft
With kingship and dominion o'er the reft,
Receiv'd his nobler nature, and was made.
Fit for the power in which he stands array'd,
That firft or laft, hereafter if not here,
He too might make his author's wifdom clear,
Praife him on earth, or obftinately dumb
Suffer his juftice in a world to come.
This once believ'd, 'twere logic misapply'd
To prove a confequence by none deny'd,
That we are bound to caft the minds of youth-
Betimes, into the mould of heav'nly truth,
That taught of God, they may indeed be wife,
Nor ignorantly wand'ring, mifs the skies.
In early days the confcience has in most A quickness, which in later life is loft, Preferv'd from guilt by falutary fears, Or, guilty, foon relenting into tears. Too careless often as our years proceed, What friends we fort with, or what books we read, Our parents yet exert a prudent care
To feed our infant minds with proper fare,
And wifely ftore the nurs'ry by degrees
With wholfome learning, yet acquir'd with eafe.
Neatly fecur'd from being foil'd or torn
Beneath a pane of thin translucent horn,
A book (to please us at a tender age
'Tis call'd a book, though but a fingle page)
Prefents the pray'r the Saviour deign'd to teach,
Which children ufe, and parfons-when they preach
Lifping out fyllables, we fcramble next,
Through moral narrative, or facred text,
And learn with wonder how this world began, Who made, who marr'd, and who has ranfom'd man. Points, which, unlefs the Scripture made them plain, The wifeft heads might agitate in vain.
Oh thou, whom borne on fancy's eager wing,
Back to the feafon of life's happy spring,
I pleas'd' remember, and while mem'ry yet
Holds falt her office here, can ne'er forget,
Ingenious dreamer, in whose well-told talè
Sweet fiction and sweet truth alike prevail,
Whofe hum'rous vein, ftrong fenfe, and fimple ftile,
May teach the gayeft, make the graveft fmile,
Witty, and well-employ'd, and like thy Lord,
Speaking in parables his flighted word;
I name thee not, left fo defpis'd a name,
Should move a fneer at thy deferved fame,
Yet ev'n in tranfitory life's late day
That mingles all my brown with fober gray,
Revere the man, whose Pilgrim marks the road
And guides the Progrefs of the foul to God.
'Twere well with moft, if books that could engage
Their childhood, pleas'd them at a riper age;
The man approving what had charm'd the boy,
Would die at laft in comfort, peace, and joy,
And not with curfes on his art who ftole
The gem of truth from his unguarded foul.
The ftamp of artlefs piety impress'd,
By kind tuition on his yielding breast,
The youth now bearded, and yet pert and raw,
Regards with scorn, though once receiv'd with awe,
And warp'd into the labyrinth of lies
That babblers, call'd philofophers, devife,
Blafphemes his creed as founded on a plàn
Replete with dreams, unworthy of a man
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