Would make his fate his choice; whom peace, the fruit
Of virtue, and whom virtue, fruit of faith, Prepare for happiness; befpeak him one Content indeed to fojourn while he must Below the fkies, but having there his home. The world o'erlooks him in her busy fearch Of objects, more illuftrious in her view; And, occupied as earnestly as fhe, Though more fublimely, he o'erlooks the world. She fcorns his pleasures, for fhe knows them not;
He feeks not her's, for he has prov'd them vain. He cannot skim the ground like fummer birds Pursuing gilded flies; and fuch he deems
Her honours, her emoluments, her joys. Therefore in contemplation is his blifs,
Whose pow'r is fuch, that whom the lifts from earth
She makes familiar with a heav'n unseen,
And fhows him glories yet to be reveal'd.
Not flothful he, though feeming unemploy'd, And cenfur'd oft as ufelefs. Stilleft ftreams
Oft water faireft meadows, and the bird
That flutters leaft is longeft on the wing. Ask him, indeed, what trophies he has rais'd, Or what achievements of immortal fame He purposes, and he shall answer-None. His warfare is within. There unfatigu'd His fervent spirit labours. There he fights,
And there obtains fresh triumphs o'er himself, And never with'ring wreaths, compar'd with which The laurels that a Cæfar reaps are weeds. Perhaps the felf-approving haughty world,
That as fhe sweeps him with her whistling filks Scarce deigns to notice him, or, if she fee,
Deems him a cypher in the works of God, Receives advantage from his noiseless hours, Of which fhe little dreams. Perhaps the owes Her funshine and her rain, her blooming spring And plenteous harvest, to the pray'r he makes, When, Ifaac like, the folitary faint
Walks forth to meditate at even-tide,
And think on her, who thinks not for herself.
Forgive him, then, thou buftler in concerns Of little worth, an idler in the beft,
If, author of no mifchief and fome good, He feek his proper happiness by means That may advance, but cannot hinder, thine, Nor, though he tread the fecret path of life, Engage no notice, and enjoy much ease, Account him an incumbrance on the state, Receiving benefits, and rend'ring none.
His sphere though humble, if that humble sphere Shine with his fair example, and though fmall His influence, if that influence all be spent In foothing forrow and in quenching ftrife, In aiding helpless indigence, in works From which at least a grateful few derive Some taste of comfort in a world of wo, Then let the fupercilious great confefs He ferves his country, recompenfes well The ftate, beneath the shadow of whose vine
He fits fecure, and in the fcale of life Holds no ignoble, though a flighted, place. The man, whofe virtues are more felt than seen, Muft drop indeed the hope of public praise;
But he may boaft what few that win it can
That, if his country stand not by his skill,
At least his follies have not wrought her fall.
Polite refinement offers him in vain
Her golden tube, through which a fenfual world Draws grofs impurity, and likes it well,
The neat conveyance hiding all th' offence. Not that he peevishly rejects a mode
Because that world adopts it. If it bear The stamp and clear impreffion of good sense, And be not coftly more than of true worth, He puts it on, and, for decorum fake,
Can wear it e'en as gracefully as fhe. She judges of refinement by the eye, He by the test of confcience, and a heart Not foon deceiv'd; aware that what is base
No polish can make sterling; and that vice, Though well perfum'd and elegantly dress'd, Like an unburied carcase trick'd with flow'rs, Is but a garnifh'd nuifance, fitter far For cleanly riddance than for fair attire. So life glides fmoothly and by stealth away, More golden than that age of fabled gold Renown'd in ancient fong; not vex'd with care Or ftain'd with guilt, beneficent, approv'd Of God and man, and peaceful in its end. So glide my life away! and fo at last, My share of duties decently fulfill'd, May fome difeafe, not tardy to perform Its deftin'd office, yet with gentle stroke, Difmifs me, weary, to a fafe retreat
Beneath the turf that I have often trod.
It fhall not grieve me, then, that once, when call'd
To dress a Sofa with the flow'rs of verse,
I play'd awhile, obedient to the fair,
With that light task; but foon, to please her more,
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