Here choicest flowers, in rich profusion strew'd, Deck the gay plains, and make creation smile;

From these the bees extract the sweetest food, When the warm sun invites them to their toil. This is the hour, the happy hour, to pay Our adoration to the source of light,

Just when Aurora drives the shades away, And ruddy morning takes the place of night. The mind, refreshed by its late repose, Is now more strong and vig'rous than before: Let us not then this happy moment lose ; But the great source of all that's good adore. 'Tis He who makes the smiling flowers to

grow,

Which thus enamel the green mantled plain;

'Tis He who bids yon bubbling brook to flow, And gladdens earth with fertilizing rain.

Tho' these his sov'reign power and goodness

show;

They're small, compar'd to works that he has done:

Far greater blessings from his bounty flow; His choicest gifts are treasur'd in his Son.

YOUTH..

YOUTH's a sweet season, but so quickly flown,
We scarcely call the transient bloom our own;
We hardly feel ourselves upon the stage,
Till time gives warning of approaching age.
But youth may a still lovelier light assume,
View'd as an emblem of immortal bloom;
Like as the blossom, from a generous root,
Is a fair prelude to delicious fruit.

But here a thought occurs-from root that's dead
How can the bud. protrude, or blossom spread?
Our root is wither'd in a barren soil;

Our lamps are out, and wasted is our oil.
Unchang'd by pow'r divine, our fairest-deeds
Appear like fading flowers, or pois'nous weeds:
But once ingrafted in the living vine,

The flower's immortal, and the fruit divine.
Alas! what precious hours we spend in vain!
In learning what must be unlearn'd again!
'Tis mortifying, when advanc'd to age,
To be set back, as 'twere, to the first page..

scene

But worse by far, at last to yield the ghost,
Untutor'd still in what concerns us most.
How dreadful to the unembodi'd mind,
To leave its wisdom, and its wealth, behind!
Be thou, O Lord, my wisdom and my wealth;
My bed in sickness, and my joy in health;
Thro' all the changing of life, my guide;
At once my glory, and my shield from pride.
O! turn my heart from vanity and lies!
The sacred volume teach me how to prize:
Grant me the teachings of thy spirit, Lord,
That I may rightly understand thy word.
Me to thy blessed image, Lord, transform-
What an aspiring thought in such a worm!
But thou art pleas'd to see our hearts aspire,
Thou blessed source of eyery good desire.
O! let me cleave and fasten to my Rock!
And there sustain the last tremendous shock:
Not life, nor death, in its most frightful gloom,
Nor things that present are, nor things to come,
Nor height, nor depth, nor all the powers that be,
Can sep'rate from the love of God and thee.

A HYMN.

WHY should my soul lie sunk in deep despond

ence,

Brooding o'er evils in their nature transient! Why this depression, while so many blessings Cluster around me!

Don't those possessions which allure the world

ling,

Owe their chief value t' artificial cravings?
While the enjoyments of the child of nature

Are more refreshing.

Think how prepost'rous, in such poor delinquents, Who the least favour cannot claim from merit, Thus to come forward with our idle wishes,

Claiming indulgence!

Think how ungrateful, thus to pine and murmur At the privation of some earthly comforts;

While the best blessings which a God could

tender,

Court our acceptance!

Redeemer!

Still let me ponder, with increas'd amazement,
On the deep suff'rings of the great
On his perfections, and the blessings purchas'd
For his believers!

O! may that temper, which prevail'd in Jesus,
Gain the ascendant over all that's sensual!

Holy affections, which ensure fruition,

Strengthen within me!

THE ABSURDITY OF ATHEISM

LIVES there a man, possess'd of ears and eyes;
Who the dread presence of a God denies?
If there be such, let him for once survey
The various beauties nature's works display;
The silver fountain's bosom free from stain;
The lofty mountain, and the lowly plain;
Luxuriant meadows, and high tow'ring trees;
Herbs, fruits, and flowers: then ask, who made
all these?

Thou canst not think that by mere chance they

came,

Nor yet that mortal man perform'd the same.
But what are mortals? View thyself and see;
Without a power divine thou could'st not be.