show'rs;
Welcome fair hopes, and holy cares,
The not to be repented shares
Of time and business; the sure road
Unto my last and lov'd abode!
O supreme Bliss!
The Circle, Centre, and Abyss
Of blessings, never let me miss
Nor leave that path which leads to Thee,
Who art alone all things to me!
I hear, I see, all the long day
The noise and pomp of the broad way.
I note their coarse and proud approaches,
Their silks, perfumes, and glittering coaches.
But in the narrow way to Thee
I observe only poverty,
And despis'd things; and all along
The ragged, mean, and humble throng
Are still on foot; and as they go
They sigh, and say, their Lord went so.
Give me my staff then, as it stood
When green and growing in the wood;
--Those stones, which for the altar serv'd,
Might not be smooth'd, nor finely carv'd--
With this poor stick I'll pass the ford,
As Jacob did; and Thy dear word,
As Thou hast dress'd it, not as wit
And deprav'd tastes have poison'd it,
Shall in the passage be my meat,
And none else will Thy servant eat.
Thus, thus, and in no other sort,
Will I set forth, though laugh'd at for't;
And leaving the wise world their way,
Go through, though judg'd to go astray.

THE BEE.

From fruitful beds and flow'ry borders,
Parcell'd to wasteful ranks and orders,
Where State grasps more than plain Truth needs,
And wholesome herbs are starv'd by weeds,
To the wild woods I will be gone,
And the coarse meals of great Saint John.

When truth and piety are miss'd
Both in the rulers and the priest;
When pity is not cold, but dead,
And the rich eat the poor like bread;
While factious heads with open coil
And force, first make, then share, the spoil;
To Horeb then Elias goes,
And in the desert grows the rose.
Hail crystal fountains and fresh shades,
Where no proud look invades,
No busy worldling hunts away
The sad retirer all the day!
Hail, happy, harmless solitude!
Our sanctuary from the rude
And scornful world; the calm recess
Of faith, and hope, and holiness!
Here something still like Eden looks;
Honey in woods, juleps in brooks,
And flow'rs, whose rich, unrifled sweets
With a chaste kiss the cool dew greets,
When the toils of the day are done,