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Why did the fiat of a God give birth Το yon

fair sun and his attendant earth? And, when descending he resigns the skies, Why takes the gentler moon her turn to rise, Whom ocean feels through all his countless waves, And owns her pow'r on ev'ry shore he laves? Why do the seasons still enrich the

year, Fruitful and young, as in their first career? Spring hangs her infant blossoms on the trees;

Rock'd in the cradle of the western breeze;

Summer in haste the thriving charge receives
Beneath the shade of her expanded leaves,
Till autumn's fiercer heats and plenteous dews
Dye them at last in all their glowing hues.-
'Twere wild profusion all, and bootless waste,
Pow'r misemploy’d, munificence misplac’d,
Had not its author dignified the plan,
And crown'd it with the majesty of man.
Thus form’d, thus plac'd, intelligent, and taught,
Look where he will, the wonders God has wrought,

The wildest scorner of his Maker's laws

Finds in a sober moment time to pause,
To

press th' important question on his heart, Why form’d at all, and wherefore as thou art?” If man be what he seems—this hour a slave,

The next mere dust and ashes in the grave;
Endu'd with reason only to descry
His crimes and follies with an aching eye;
With passions, just that he may prove, with

pain,
The force he spends against their fury vain;
And if, soon after having burnt, by turns,
With ev'ry lust with which frail nature burns,
His being end where death dissolves the bond,
The tomb take all, and all be blank beyond
Then he, of all that nature has brought forth,
Stands self-impeach'd the creature of least worth,
And, useless while he lives, and when he dies,
Brings into doubt the wisdom of the skies.

Truths that the learn’d pursue with eager thought
Are not important always as dear bought,
Proving at last, though told in pompous strains,
A childish waste of philosophic pains;
But truths on which depends our main concern,
That 'tis our shame and mis’ry not to learn,
Shine by the side of ev'ry path we tread
With such a lustre, he that runs may read.
'Tis true that, if to trifle life away
Down to the sun-set of their latest day,
Then perish on futurity's wide shore
Like fleeting exhalations, found no more,
Were all that Heav'n requir'd of human kind,
And all the plan their destiny design’d,
What none could rev'rence all might justly blame,

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And man would breathe but for his Maker's shame.

But reason heard, and nature well perus’d,
At once the dreaming mind is disabus’d.
If all we find possessing earth, sea, air,
Reflect his attributes who plac'd them there,

Fulfil the purpose, and appear design'd
Proofs of the wisdom of th' all-seeing mind,
'Tis plain the creature, whom he chose t'invest
With kingship and dominion o’er the rest,

Receiv'd his nobler nature, and was made

Fit for the pow'r in which he stands array’d,
That first or last, hereafter if not here,
He too might make his author's wisdom clear,
Praise him on earth, or, obstinately dumb,
Suffer his justice in a world to come.
This once believ’d, 'twere logic misapplied
To prove a consequence by none denied,
That we are bound to cast the minds of youth
Betimes into the mould of heav'nly truth,
That, taught of God, they may indeed be

wise,

Nor, ignorantly wand'ring, miss the skies.

In early days the conscience has in most A quickness, which in later life is lost:

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Presery'd from guilt by salutary fears,
Or, guilty, soon relenting into tears.
Too careless often, as our years proceed,
What friends we sort with, or what books we read,
Our parents yet exert a prudent care
To feed our infant minds with proper fare;
And wisely store the nurs'ry by degrees
With wholesome learning, yet acquir'd with ease.
Neatly secur'd from being soild or torn
Beneath a pane of thin translucent horn,
A book (to please us at a tender age
'Tis call’d a book, though but a single page)
Presents the pray’r the Saviour deign’d to teach,
Which children use, and parsons--when they

preach.
Lisping our syllables, we scramble next
Through moral narrative, or sacred text;
And learn with wonder how this world began,
Who made, who marr’d, and who has ransom'd

man.

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