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By the impure, and hears his pow'r denied.
Thou art the source and centre of all minds,
Their only point of rest, eternal Word!
From thee departing, they are lost, and rove
At random, without honor, hope, or peace.
From thee is all that soothes the life of man,
His high endeavor, and his glad success,
His strength to suffer, and his will to serve.
But oh thou bounteous Giver of all good,
Thou art of all thy gifts, thyself the crown!
Give what thou canst, without thee we are poor;
And with thee rich, take what thou wilt away.

THE TASK,

A POEM.

BOOK VI.

ARGUMENT OF THE SIXTH BOOK.

Bells at a distance.... Their effect....A fine noon in winter.... A sheltered walk.... Meditation better than books....Our familiarity with the course of nature makes it appear less wonderful than it is.... The transformation that spring effects in a shrubbery described ....A mistake concerning the course of nature corrected....God maintains it by an unremitted act....The amusement fashionable at this hour of the day reproved....Animals happy, a delightful sight....Origin of cruelty to animals....That it is a great crime proved from scripture....That proof illustrated by a tale....A line drawn between the lawful and unlawful destruction of them.... Their good and useful properties insisted on....! ...Apology for the encomiums bestowed by the author on animals....Instances of man's extravagant praise of man....The groans of the creation shall have an end....A view taken of the restoration of all things.... An invocation and an invitation of him who shall bring it to pass ....The retired man vindicated from the charge of uselessness.... Conclusion.

THE TASK.

BOOK VI.

THE WINTER WALK AT NOON.

THERE is in souls a sympathy with sounds ;
And, as the mind is pitch'd, the ear is pleas'd
With melting airs, or martial, brisk, or grave:
Some chord in unison with what we hear
Is touch'd within us, and the heart replies.
How soft the music of those village bells,
Falling at intervals upon the ear
In cadence sweet, now dying all away,
Now pealing loud again, and louder still,
Clear and sonorous, as the gale comes on!
With easy force it opens all the cells
Where mem'ry slept. Wherever I have heard
A kindred melody, the scene recurs,
And with it all its pleasures and its pains.
Such comprehensive views the spirit takes,
That in a few short moments I retrace
(As in a map the voyager his course)
The windings of my way through many years.
Short as in retrospect the journey seems,
It seem'd not always short; the rugged path,
And prospect oft so dreary and forlorn,

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Mov'd many a sigh at its disheart'ning length.
Yet, feeling present evils, while the past
Faintly impress the mind, or not at all,
How readily we wish time spent revok'd,

That we might try the ground again, where once
(Through inexperience, as we now perceive)
We miss'd that happiness we might have found!
Some friend is gone, perhaps his son's best friend!
A father, whose authority, in show

When most severe, and must'ring all its force,
Was but the graver countenance of love;
Whose favor, like the clouds of spring, might low'r,
And utter now and then an awful voice,
But had a blessing in its darkest frown,
Threat'ning at once, and nourishing the plant.
'We lov'd, but not enough, the gentle hand
That rear'd us. At a thoughtless age, allur'd
By ev'ry gilded folly, we renounc'd

His shelt'ring side, and wilfully forewent
That converse which we now in vain regret.
How gladly would the man recall to life
The boy's neglected sire! a mother too,
That softer friend, perhaps more gladly still,
Might he demand them at the gates of death.
Sorrow has, since they went, subdu'd and tam'd
The playful humor; he could now endure,
(Himself grown sober in the vale of tears)
And feel a parent's presence no restraint.
But not to understand a treasure's worth
Till time has stol'n away the slighted good,
Is cause of half the poverty we feel,

And makes the world the wilderness it is.

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