Of good or bad (whate'er be sought for or

profest)

90

Lie in the means required, or ways ordained,
For compassing the end, else never gained;
Yet governors and governed both are blind
To this plain truth, or fling it to the wind;
If to expedience principle must bow;
Past, future, shrinking up beneath the incum-
bent Now;

If cowardly concession still must feed

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100

The thirst for power in men who ne'er concede;
Nor turn aside, unless to shape a way
For domination at some riper day;
If generous Loyalty must stand in awe
Of subtle Treason, in his mask of law,
Or with bravado insolent and hard,
Provoking punishment, to win reward;
If office help the factious to conspire,
And they who should extinguish, fan the fire-
Then, will the sceptre be a straw, the crown
Sit loosely, like the thistle's crest of down;
To be blown off at will, by Power that spares it
In cunning patience, from the head that wears
it.

105

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Lost people, trained to theoretic feud! Lost above all, ye labouring multitude! Bewildered whether ye, by slanderous tongues Deceived, mistake calamities for wrongs; And over fancied usurpations brood, Oft snapping at revenge in sullen mood; Or, from long stress of real injuries fly To desperation for a remedy;

115

In bursts of outrage spread your judgments wide,

And to your wrath cry out, "Be thou our

guide;"

120

Or, bound by oaths, come forth to tread earth's floor

In marshalled thousands, darkening street and

moor

With the worst shape mock-patience ever wore ; Or, to the giddy top of self-esteem

129

By Flatterers carried, mount into a dream 125
Of boundless suffrage, at whose sage behest
Justice shall rule, disorder be supprest,
And every man sit down as Plenty's Guest!
O for a bridle bitted with remorse
To stop your Leaders in their headstrong course!
Oh may the Almighty scatter with His grace
These mists, and lead you to a safer place,
By paths no human wisdom can foretrace!
May He pour round you, from worlds far
above
Man's feverish passions, His pure light of love,
That quietly restores the natural mien
To hope, and makes truth willing to be seen!
Else shall your blood-stained hands in frenzy

reap

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140

Fields gaily sown when promises were cheap.-
Why is the Past belied with wicked art,
The Future made to play so false a part,
Among a people famed for strength of mind,
Foremost in freedom, noblest of mankind?
We act as if we joyed in the sad tune

Storms make in rising, valued in the moon 145
Nought but her changes. Thus, ungrateful
Nation!

If thou persist, and, scorning moderation, Spread for thyself the snares of tribulation, Whom, then, shall meekness guard? What saving skill

149

Lie in forbearance, strength in standing still? -Soon shall the widow (for the speed of Time

IV.

Nought equals when the hours are winged with crime)

Widow, or wife, implore on tremulous knee, From him who judged her lord, a like decree; The skies will weep o'er old men desolate: 155 Ye little-ones! Earth shudders at your fate, Outcasts and homeless orphans

But turn, my Soul, and from the sleeping pair Learn thou the beauty of omniscient care! Be strong in faith, bid anxious thoughts lie still; Seek for the good and cherish it—the ill Oppose, or bear with a submissive will.

1833.

161

XXXVI.

If this great world of joy and pain
Revolve in one sure track;

If freedom, set, will rise again,
And virtue, flown, come back;
Woe to the purblind crew who fill
The heart with each day's care;
Nor gain, from past or future, skill
To bear, and to forbear!

1833.

XXXVII.

THE LABOURER'S NOON-DAY HYMN.

Up to the throne of God is borne
The voice of praise at early morn,
And he accepts the punctual hymn
Sung as the light of day grows dim.

5

Nor will he turn his ear aside
From holy offerings at noontide.
Then here reposing let us raise
A song of gratitude and praise.

What though our burthen be not light
We need not toil from morn to night;
The respite of the mid-day hour
Is in the thankful Creature's power.

Blest are the moments, doubly blest,
That, drawn from this one hour of rest,
Are with a ready heart bestowed

Upon the service of our God!

Each field is then a hallowed spot,

An altar is in each man's cot,

A church in every grove that spreads
Its living roof above our heads.

Look up to Heaven! the industrious Sun
Already half his race hath run;
He cannot halt nor go astray,
But our immortal Spirits may.

Lord! since his rising in the East,
If we have faltered or transgressed,
Guide, from thy love's abundant source,
What yet remains of this day's course:

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15

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25

Help with thy grace, through life's short day, Our upward and our downward way;

And glorify for us the west,

When we shall sink to final rest.

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1834.

XXXVIII.

ODE,

COMPOSED ON MAY MORNING.

WHILE from the purpling east departs
The star that led the dawn,

Blithe Flora from her couch upstarts,
For May is on the lawn.

A quickening hope, a freshening glee,

Foreran the expected Power,

Whose first-drawn breath from bush and tree Shakes off that pearly shower.

All Nature welcomes Her whose sway
Tempers the year's extremes;
Who scattereth lustres o'er noon-day,
Like morning's dewy gleams;
While mellow warble, sprightly trill,
The tremulous heart excite;

And hums the balmy air to still

The balance of delight.

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10

15

Time was, blest Power! when youths and maids

At реер of dawn would rise,

And wander forth, in forest glades

Thy birth to solemnize.

Though mute the song-to grace the rite

Untouched the hawthorn bough,

Thy Spirit triumphs o'er the slight;

Man changes, but not Thou!

Thy feathered Lieges bill and wings

In love's disport employ ;

Warmed by thy influence, creeping things
Awake to silent joy:

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