Though in a bare and rugged way, MORALITY IN THE FIELDS. WITH toilsome steps when I pursue O'er breaking clods the ploughshare's way, And when with seed I strew the earth, Pleas'd, I behold the stately stem Support its bearded honour's load; Thus, Lord, sustain'd by thee I came To manhood, through youth's dangerous road Purging from noxious herbs the grain, Life, thus replete with various woe, When future crops, in silent hoards, VOL. I. "Now let the spacious world arise!" At once th' obedient earth and skies Dark was the deep, the waters lay He bids the clouds ascend on high: A wat'ry treasure to the sky, And float on softer air. The liquid element below Was gather'd by his hand; And leave the solid land. With herbs and plants, a flow'ry birth, Then he adorn'd the upper skies: The moon and stars in order rise, Out of the deep th' Almighty King And painted fowls of ev'ry wing, D 49 He gave the lion and the worm Adam was form'd of equal clay, Thus glorious in the Maker's eye SONG TO CREATIVE WISDOM. ETERNAL Wisdom! thee we praise, Thee the creation sings; With thy loud name, rocks, hills, and seas, And heaven's high palace rings. Thy hand, how wide it spreads the sky! Tinged with a blue of heavenly dye, There thou hast bid the globes of light There, the pale planet rules the night; If down I turn my wond'ring eyes Thy numerous glories show. The noisy winds stand ready there With sounding wings they sweep the air, To make thy chariot way. SONG TO CREATIVE WISDOM. There, like a trumpet loud and strong, On the thin air, without a prop, Thy wondrous power and skill arrays The rolling mountains of the deep Thy breath can raise the billows steep, Thy glories blaze all nature round, Through skies, and seas, and solid ground, Infinite strength and equal skill But the mild glories of thy grace Our softer passions move; Pity divine in Jesu's face We see, adore, and love! 51 THOMAS PARNELL. BORN, 1679; DIED, 1717. A HYMN TO CONTENTMENT. "LOVELY, lasting peace of mind! Sweet delight of human kind! Heav'nly-born, and bred on high, To crown the fav'rites of the sky, With more of happiness below, Than victors in a triumph know! Whither, oh! whither art thou fled, To lay thy meek contented head? What happy region dost thou please, To make the seat of calms and ease? Ambition searches all its sphere Of pomp and state, to meet thee there: Increasing avarice would find Thy presence in its gold enshrin’d; The bold adventurer ploughs his way, Through rocks amidst the foaming sea, To gain thy love; and then perceives Thou wert not in the rocks and waves. The silent heart which grief assails, Treads soft and lonesome o'er the vales, Sees daisies open, rivers run, And seeks (as I have vainly done) Amusing thought; but learns to know That solitude's the nurse of woe. No real happiness is found In trailing purple o'er the ground; To range the circuit of the sky; Converse with stars above, and know And doubts at last, for knowledge, rise. |