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THE UNIVERSAL PRAYER. FATHER of all! in ev'ry age,
In ev'ry clime, ador’d,
Jehovah, Jove, or Lord ?
Who all my sense confin’d,
And that myself am blind.
To see the good from ill;
Left free the human will.
Or warns me not to do,
That, more than Heav'n pursue.
Let me not caft away ;
T'enjoy is to obey.
Thy goodness let me bound,
When thousand worlds are round.
Presume thy bolts to throw,
On each I judge thy foe.
Still in the right to stay :
heart To find that better way.
Save me alike from foolish pride,
Or impious discontent,
Or aught thy goodness lent.
To hide the fault I fee;
That mercy shew to me.
Since quicken'd by thy breath;
All elfe beneath the sun,
And let thy will be done.
Whose altar, earth, sea, skies !
All nature's incenfe rise!
THE HAPPY LIFE.
A BOOK, a friend, a song, a glass,
A chaste, yet laughter-loving lass, To mortals various joys impart, Inform the senfe, and warm the heart. Thrice happy they, who careless laid Beneath a kind-embow'ring shade, With rosy wreaths their temples crown, In rosy wine their sorrows drown. Meanwhile the muses wake the lyre, The graces modest mirth inspire, Good-natur'd humour, harmless wit; Well temper'd joys, nor grave, nor light.
Let sacred Venus with her heir,
INSCRIPTION AT THE ENTRANCE OF A BURIAL GROUND FOR
NEGRO SLAVES, IN A GROVE OF PIMENTO. STRANGER! whoe'er thou art, with rev’rence
tread, Lo! these, the silent mansions of the dead ! His life of labour o'er, the wearied slave Here finds, at length, soft quiet in the grave: View not, with proud disdain, th’unsculptur'd heap, Where injur'd innocence forgets to weep, Not idly deem, although not here are found The folemn aisle and consecrated ground, The spot less facred :->o'er the turf-built shrine, Where virtue sleeps, resides the power divine.
CONTENT. O'ER moorlands and mountains, rude, barren,
and bare, As wilder'd and weary'd, I roam, A gentle young shepherdefs fees my despair,
And leads me-o'er lawns-to her home :
Yellow sheaves from rich Ceres her cottage had
crown'd, Green rushes were strew'd on her floor, Her casement, sweet woodbines crept wantonly.
round, And deck'd the fod feats at the door. We fat ourselves down to a cooling repaft,
Fresh fruits! and the cull’d me the best; While thrown from my guard, by some glances she
cast, Love Nily stole into my breaft! I told my foft wishes; the sweetly reply'd,
(Ye virgins, her voice was divine !) I've rich ones rejected, and great ones deny'd,
But take me, fond shepherd--I'm thine.
So fimple, yet sweet, were her charms !
And lock'd the dear maid in my arms.
And if, by yon prattle, the stream, Reclin'd on her bosom, I sink into sleep, Her iinage still softens my
dream. Together we range o'er the flow rising hills, Delighted with
paftoral views, Or reft on the rock whence the streamlet diftils,
And point out new themes for my muse.
The damfel's of humble descent;
And shepherds have nam'd her content.
Drinks torrents of ambrofial rain,
Left angry ocean should be dry,
THE COUNTRY CLERGYMAN. NEAR yonder copse, where once the garden smild,
And still where many a garden flower grows wild; There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, The village preacher's modeft manfion rose. A man he was, to all the country dear, And pafling rich with forty pounds a-year; Remote from towns he ran his godly race, Nore'er had chang'd, nor wilh'd to change his place; Unskilful he to fawn, or seek for power, By doctrines fashion’d to the varying hour; Far other aims his heart had learn'd to prize, More bent to raise the wretched than to rise. His house was known to all the vagrant train, He chid their wand'rings, but reliev'd their pain ; The long-remember'd beggar was his guest, Whose beard defcending Iwept his aged breast; The ruin'd spendthrift, now no longer proud, Claim'd kindred there, and had his claims allow'd; The broken soldier, kindly bid to stay, Sat by his fire, and talk'd the night away; Wept o'er his wounds, or, tales of forrow done, Shoulder'd his crutch, and show'd how fields were Pleas'd with his guests, the good man learn’d to glow, And quite forgot their vices in their woe; Careless their merits, on their faults to scan, His pity gave ere charity began,