Or Faith with fixed eye, be crown'd above I ask of Thee, thou poor oppressed Man, Who friendless feel'st thyself, save when thou turn'st To the Everlasting Friend-I ask of Thee I ask of thee, whether the darkest hour And perhaps thou lovedst ONE, a fellow being, If this withdrawing of all goodly things, All the desirable blessings of the earth, And these resources which we ne'er foresee, But which experience, sanctified by Heaven, Holds it most safe to trust, this evil spirit Would utterly destroy; impatient ever Of present ill; and ne'er from pious faith Trusting that all things tend to happiness.This evil spirit misnamed LibertyLicentiousness 'mong wise men deem'd, and call'd By angels blasphemy; rejects a God Not seeing as man sees; who sets at nought All earthly wisdom, and of smallest things Works mighty marvels of stupendous power! But heed not, Countrymen, the bleating Wolf! Humble yourselves before the God of Heaven, Remembering still that Liberty ne'er comes Where more of wishes, more of lusts intrude Than human skill has power to gratify! That liberty comes not with laws relax'd; With troublous opposition, and with rude And boisterous promise: that futurity, Blest with the flush of prosperous event, Or rather, Liberty, thou lov'st to dwell That shrinks from every stain; not civic laws Then bow yourselves, my Countrymen, and own, That, in a world where voluntary slaves LINES TO A BROTHER AND SISTER, Written soon after a Recovery from Sickness. 6th April, 1799. 'Tis surely hard, the melancholy day To waste without the cheering voice of friend: To see the morning dart its golden ray, To see the night in misty dews descend, Nor catch one sound where Love and Meekness blend. 'Tis surely hard for him who knows how dear A kindred soul, eternally to send A fruitless prayer for smiles and words that cheer, The wish in looks revealed and rapture's holy tear, II. Him whom the spirit of attachment warms, The nameless thrilling and the soft desire: Him whom the glance of melting beauty charms, young allurement and its living fire; Its For him in tedious languor to expire, Dreaming of bliss, yet wake to deep despair; Fitted for love, of every joy the sire, To drag a life of unrequited care, For him, such silent woe, 'tis surely hard to bear. III. Thank Heaven, such lot hath never yet been mine, For if the gloom of discontent should fall, And my young spirit for a season pine, I cannot, save with gratitude, recall Gay-painted hours of dancing festival, When new and joyous friendships bore away All fears of what in future might befall, All recollections of uncheer'd dismay, Giving to full content the heartsome holiday. IV. And still (with pride my heart the truth reveals) Beneath my quiet and paternal roof, Mine eyes for ever meet the look that heals Pale Sorrow's anguish with a kind reproof. |