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The squirrel here his hoard provides,
Aware of wintry storms,
Of rugged oaks for worms.
The sheep here smooths the knotted thorn
With frictions of her fleece; And here I wander eve and morn,
Like her, a friend to peace.
Ah !—I could pity thee exiled
From this secure retreat— I would not lose it to be styled
The happiest of the great.
But thou canst taste no calm delight;
Thy pleasure is to show Thy magnanimity in fight,
Thy prowess—therefore, go—
I care not whether east or north,
So I no more may find thee;
And claps the gate behind thee.
ANNUS MEMORABILIS, 1789.
WRITTEN IN COMMEMORATION OF HIS MAJESTY'S HAPP? RECOVERY.
I Ransacked, for a theme of song,
Much ancient chronicle, and long;
I read of bright embattled fields,
Of trophied helmets, spears, and shields,
Of chiefs, whose single arm could boast
Prowess to dissipate a host;
Through tomes of fable and of dream
I sought an eligible theme,
But none I found, or found them shared
Already by some happier bard.
To modern times, with truth to guide
Thus as the bee, from bank to bower,
Contemplating with small delight
The spring of Eighty-nine shall be
Then peace and joy again possess'd
Then suddenly regain the prize,
O Queen of Albion, queen of isles!
If they who on thy state attend,
FOR THE USE OF THE SUNDAY SCHOOL AT OLNEY.
Hear, Lord, the song of praise and prayer,
In Heaven thy dwelling place, From infants made the public care,
And taught to seek thy face.
Thanks for thy word, and for thy day,
And grant us, we implore, Never to waste in sinful play
Thy holy sabbaths more.
Thanks that we hear,—but O impart
To each desires sincere,
And learn as well as hear.
For if vain thoughts the minds engage
Of older far than we, What hope, that, at our heedless age,
Our minds should e'er be free?
Much hope, if thou our spirits take
Under thy gracious sway,
And babes as wise as they.
Wisdom and bliss thy word bestows,
A sun that ne'er declines, And be thy mercies shower'd on those
Who placed us where it shines.