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Fon BID it, Heav'n, that e'er I eat
A curse would poison all my meat,
2 I ne'er will raise a poor man's sigh, His hire shall never swell my store;
I dread the poor man's plaintive cry, I fear the Father of the Poor.
If I in darkness (base misdeed!) .
By me if innocency bleed,
Ah! no; let me with strong delight
Tender of ev'ry social right,
Such virtue thou wilt ne'er forget,
High recompence; tho’ not of debt,
How high our sanguine hopes we raise!
What fancy's magic glass displays
These mortal objects of our love
Seduce our souls from things above,
O bitter changel when Heav'n's kind hand
We weep, we laugh, in mad extreme ;
Now on the mount of bliss we seem,
In vain you hail him good and great,
Boast him impregnable to fate,
4 Wain world, whose scenes of bliss and woe Are shifting every fleeting hour; No longer shall our spirits owe Their peace, or trouble, to thy pow'r.
Teach us, thou Comforter divine, Contentment; should our all be gone :
Teach us submission meek as thine, “Father, thy will, not mine be done.”
Come, Disappointment, come ! Not in thy terrors clad ; Come in thy meekest, saddest guise; Thy chastening rod but terrifies The restless and the bad. But I recline Beneath thy shrine, And round my brow resign'd, thy peaceful cypress twine.
Tho' Fancy flies away Before thy hollow tread, Yet Meditation in her cell, Hears, with faint eye, the ling’ring knell, That tells her hopes are dead; And tho’ the tear By chance appear, Yet who can smile and say, my all was not laid here.
Come, Disappointment, come! Tho' from hope’s summit hurl’d, Still, rigid Nurse, thou art forgiv'n, For thou severe wert sent from heav'n, To wean me from the world; To turn my eye From vanity, And point to scenes of bliss that never, never die. 4.
What is this passing scene? A peevish April day ! A little sun–a little rain, And then night sweeps along the plain, And all things fade away. - Man (soon discuss'd) Yields up his trust, And all his hopes and fears lie with him in the dust.
Oh what is Beauty's power 2