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O how shall words with equal warmth

The gratitude declare,
That glows within my ravish'd heart!

But Thou canst read it there.


Thy providence my life sustain'd,

And all my wants redrest,
When in the silent womb I lay,

And hung upon the breast.
To all my weak complaints and cries

Thy mercy lent an ear,
Erenyet my feeble thoughts had learn'd

To form themselves in prayer.
Unnumber'd comforts to my soul

Thy tender care bestow'd,
Before my infant heart conceived

From whom those comforts flow'd.

When in the slippery paths of youth

With heedless steps I ran,
Thine arm unseen convey'd me safe,

And led me up to man;
Through hidden dangers, toils, and death,

It gently clear'd my way,
And through the pleasing snares of vice,

More to be fear'd than they.

When worn with sickness, oft hast Thou

With health renew'd my face,
And when in sins and sorrows sunk,

Revived my soul with grace.

Thy bounteous hand with worldly bliss

Has made my cup run o'er,
And in a kind and faithful friend

Has doubled all my store.

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Ten thousand thousand precious gifts

My daily thanks employ,
Nor is the least a cheerful heart,

That tastes those gifts with joy.

Through every period of my life

Thy goodness I'll pursue,
And after death in distant worlds

The glorious theme renew.

When nature fails, and day and night

Divide thy works no more, My ever-grateful heart, O Lord,

Thy mercy shall adore.
Through all eternity to Thee

A joyful song I'll raise,
But oh ! Eternity 's too short
To utter all Thy praise,



They fell devoted, but undying;
The very gale their names seemed sighing;
The waters murmured of their name,
The woods were peopled with their fame;
The silent pillar, lone and grey,
Claimed kindred with their sacred clay,
Their spirits wrapped the dusky mountain,
Their memory sparkled o'er the fountain,
The meanest rill, the mightiest river,
Rolls mingling with their fame for ever.



This sycamore, oft musical with bees-
Such tents the patriarchs loved !-oh long unharmed
May all its aged boughs o'er-canopy
The small round basin which this jutting stone
Keeps pure from falling leaves! Long may this spring,
Quietly as a sleeping infant's breath,
Send up

cold waters to the traveller
With soft and even pulse! Nor ever cease
Yon tiny cone of sand its soundless dance,
Which at the bottom, like a fairy's page,
As merry and no taller, dances still,
Nor wrinkles the smooth surface of the fount.
Here twilight is and coolness; here is moss,
A soft seat, and a deep and ample shade;
Thou may'st toil far and find no second tree.
Drink, pilgrim, here: here rest! and if thy heart
Be innocent, here too shalt thou refresh
Thy spirit, listening to some gentle sound,
Or passing gale, or hum of murmuring bees!




FRIENDS, Romans, Countrymen, lend me your ears;
I come to bury Cæsar, not to praise him.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is often interred with their bones ;
So let it be with Cæsar! The noble Brutus
Hath told you, Cæsar was ambitious :
If it were so, it was a grievous fault;
And grievously hath Cæsar answer'd it.
Here, under leave of Brutus, and the rest
(For Brutus is an honourable man;



So are they all, all honourable men)
Come I to speak in Cæsar's funeral.
He was my friend, faithful, and just to me:
But Brutus says, he was ambitious;
And Brutus is an honourable man.
He hath brought many captives home to Rome,
Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill :
Did this in Cæsar seem ambitious ?
When that the poor hath cried, Cæsar hath wept;
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff :
Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious;
And Brutus is an honourable man.
You all did see, that, on the Lupercal,
I thrice presented him a kingly crown,
Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition ?
Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious;
And, sure, he is an honourable man.
I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke,
But here I am to speak what I do know.
You all did love him once, not without cause;
What cause



then to mourn for him ? O judgment, thou art fled to brutish beasts, And men have lost their reason !-Bear with me; My heart is in the coffin there with Cæsar, And I must pause till it comes back to me.






But yesterday the word of Cæsar might Have stood against the world : now lies he there, And none so poor to do him reverence. O masters ! if I were dispos’d to stir Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage, I should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong, Who, you all know, are honourable men : I will not do them wrong; I rather choose To wrong the dead, to wrong myself, and you, Than I will wrong such honourable men. But here's a parchment with the seal of Cæsar; I found it in his closet, 'tis his will ;



Let but the commons hear this testament
(Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read),
And they would go and kiss dear Cæsar's wounds,
And dip their napkins in his sacred blood,
Yea, beg a hair of him, for memory,
And, dying, mention it within their wills,
Bequeathing it, as a rich legacy,
Unto their issue.




Come, take up your hats, and away let us haste
To the Butterfly's ball and the Grasshopper's feast :
The trumpeter Gad-fly has summon'd the crew,
And the revels are now only waiting for you;

On the smooth shaven grass by the side of a wood,
Beneath a broad oak, which for ages

had stood,
See the children of earth, and the tenants of air,
To an ev'ning's amusement together repair;
And there came the Beetle, so blind and so black,
Who carried the Emmet, his friend, on his back,
And there came the Gnat and the Dragon-fly too,
And all their relations, green, orange, and blue;

And there came the Moth, with her plumage of down,
And the Hornet, with jacket of yellow and brown,
Who with him the Wasp, his companion, did bring,
But they promis'd, that ev'ning, to lay by their sting;
Then the sly little Dormouse peep'd out of his hole,
And led to the feast his blind cousin the Mole;
And the Snail, with her horns peeping out of her shell,
Came, fatigu'd with the distance, the length of an ell;

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