And though unworthy, finds a friend at Rome; It's vot'ry thus, would that could perish too! HOR. LIB. I. ODE IX. "Vides, ut altâ stet nive candidum EEST thou yon mountain laden with deep snow, The groves beneath their fleecy burthen bow, The streams congeal'd forget to flow; Come, thaw the cold, and lay a cheerful pile Broach the best cask, and make old winter smile This be our part-let Heaven dispose the rest; Your auburn locks will soon be silver'd o'er, Plainer myrtle pleases me Thus outstretched beneath my vine; Waiting with thy master's wine. HOR. LIB. II. ODE XVI. "Otium Divos rogat in patenti." EASE is the weary merchant's pray' Who ploughs beneath th' Egean flood, For ease the Mede with quiver graced, A blessing which no treasure buys. For neither gold can lull to rest, Happy the man, whose table shows A few clean ounces of old plate, No fear intrudes on his repose, No sordid wishes to be great. Poor short-lived things, what plans we lay! For self sticks close where'er we roam. Care follows hard; and soon o'ertakes The well-rigg'd ship, the warlike steed, Her destined quarry ne'er forsakes, Not the wind flies with half her speed. From anxious fears of future ill Guard well the cheerful, happy now; Thy neighing steeds and lowing herds, On me indulgent Heav'n bestow'd Not to live without the Cross, But the Saviour's power to know Sanctifying every loss: Trials must and will befall; But with humble faith to see Love inscribed upon them all— This is happiness to me. God in Israel sows the seeds Of affliction, pain, and toil; These spring up and choke the weeds Which would else o'erspread the soil: Trials make the promise sweet, Trials give new life to prayer, Trials bring me to His feet, Lay me low, and keep me there. Did I meet no trials here, No chastisement by the way, Bastards may escape the rod, Must not-would not, if he might. LIGHT SHINING OUT OF DARKNESS. OD moves in a mysterious way G His wonders to perform; He plants His footsteps in the sea, Deep in unfathomable mines He treasures up His bright designs, Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take Judge not the Lord by feeble sense, His purposes will ripen fast, The bud may have a bitter taste, But sweet will be the flower. |