SECTION XV. The universal prayer. FATHER OF ALL! in ev'ry age, By saint, by savage, and by sage, Thou GREAT FIRST CAUSE, least understood, To see the good from ill; What conscience dictates to be done, This teach me more than hell to shun, For God is paid, when man receives ; Yet not to earth's contracted span If I am right, thy grace impart, Save me alike from foolish pride, At aught thy wisdom has denied, That mercy I to others show, Since quicken'd by thy breath; Thro' this day's life or death! This day, be bread and peace my lot Thou know'st if best bestow'd or not. To thee, whose temple is all space, O TREACH❜ROUS conscience! while she seems to sleep And give us up to license, unrecall'd, Unmark'd ;-see, from behind her secret stand, And her dread diary with horror fills. Not the gross act alone employs her pen; A watchful foe! the formidable spy, List'ning o'erhears the whispers of our camp; As all rapacious_usurers conceal Their doomsday-book from all-consuming heirs ; Unnoted, notes each moment misapply'd ; In leaves more durable than leaves of brass, Writes our whole history; which death shall read And judgment publish; publish to more worlds Than this; and endless age in groans resound.—YOUNG. SECTION XVII. On an infant. To the dark and silent tomb, SECTION XVIII. The Cuckoo. HAIL, beauteous stranger of the wood, Now heav'n repairs thy rural seat, Delightful visitant! with thee I hail the time of flow'rs, When heav'n is fill'd with music sweet Of birds among the bow'rs. The school-boy, wand'ring in the wood Starts, thy curious voice to hear, Soon as the pea puts on the bloom, An annual guest, in other lands, Sweet bird! thy bow'r is ever green, Thou hast no sorrow in thy song, O could I fly, I'd fly with thee; SECTION XIX. Day. A pastoral in three parts. MORNING. In the barn the tenant cock, Close to Partlet perch'd on high, Briskly crows, (the shepherd's clock!) Jocund that the morning's nigh. Swiftly, from the mountain's brow, Shadows, nurs'd by night retire ; And the peeping sun-beam, now Paints with gold the village spire. Philomel forsakes the thorn, Plaintive where she prates at night; And the lark to meet the morn, Soars beyond the shepherd's sight. From the low-roof'd cottage ridge, See the chatt'ring swallow spring; Darting through the one-arch'd bridge, Quick she dips her dappled wing. Now the pine-tree's waving top Gently greets the morning gale ; Kidlings, now, begin to crop Daisies, on the dewy dale. From the balmy sweets, uncloy'd, (Restless till her task be done,) Now the busy bee's employ'd, Sipping dew before the sun. Trickling through the crevic'd rock, Where the limpid stream distils, Sweet refreshment waits the flock, When 'tis sun-drove from the hills.` Colin's for the promis'd corn (Ere the harvest hopes are ripe) Anxious ;-whilst the huntsman's horn, Boldly sounding, drowns his pipe. Sweet-O sweet, the warbling throng, On the white emblossom'd spray! Nature's universal song Echoes to the rising day. NOON. FERVID on the glitt'ring flood, Not a dew-drop's left the rose. By the brook the shepherd dines, Now the flock forsakes the glade, By the ivy'd abbey wall. Echo, in her airy round, O'er the river, rock, and hill, Cannot catch a single sound, Save the clack of yonder mill. Cattle court the zephyrs bland, Midway in the marshy pool. But from mountain, dell, or stream, |