In thy fair book of life and grace 1 REMEMBER THY CREATOR. ECCLESIASTES XII. CHILDREN, to your Creator, God, Would tempt your thoughts astray. The memory of his mighty name, Nor dare indulge a meaner flame, Be wise, and make his favours sure, When youth and mirth are known no more, No more the blessings of a feast The heavy ear forgets to taste Old age, with all her dismal train, With sighs, and groans, and raging pain, What will ye do when light departs How will you meet God's frowning brow, Or stand before his heat, While nature's old supporters bow, Nor bear their tottering weight? Can you expect your feeble arms The silver bands of nature burst, The flesh goes down to mix with dust, Laden with guilt (a heavy load,) The soul returns t' an angry God, A SURVEY OF MAN. I'm borne aloft, and leave the crowd, Skirted with dawning gold: Mine eyes beneath the opening day And try and heave the mould. "Are these the things" (my passion cried,) "That we call men? Are these allied To the fair worlds of light? They have rased out their Maker's name, Graven on their minds with pointed flame, In strokes divinely bright. "Wretches! they hate their native skies; If an ethereal thought arise, Or spark of virtue shine, With cruel force they damp its plumes, Choke the young fire with sensual fumes, "Lo! how they throng with panting breath That leads unerring down to death, I meet Myrtillo mounting high, Each like a rising star; Charin I see, and Fidea there, They soar beyond my labouring sight, But not their love, below. On heaven, their home, they fix their eyes, With morning incense up they rise, Across the road a seraph flew, "Mark," (said he,) "that happy pair, When kindred minds their God pursue, Charmed with the pleasure and surprise, My soul adores and sings "Blest be the power that springs their flight, That streaks their path with heavenly light, That turns their love to sacrifice, And joins their zeal for wings." JAMES THOMSON. THIS eminent poet was born at Ednam, in Roxburghshire, in the year 1700. He was educated at Jedburgh and Edinburgh, and was intended for the ministry. Poetry, however, led him aside from this path, and in 1725 he came to London, where he soon attracted notice by the publication of his Winter, and was patronized by the Lord Chancellor Talbot, with whose son he travelled afterwards on the Continent. At this nobleman's death, he was patronized by Frederic, Prince of Wales, and afterwards by Mr. Lyttelton. He died in 1748. As a poet, Thomson possessed powers and perfections peculiarly his own. His Seasons, which is his chief production, furnishes a glowing and interesting description of nature, in language most elegant, most simple, and yet most dignified. A HYMN ON THE SEASONS. THESE as they change, Almighty Father, these With light and heat refulgent. Then thy sun In adoration join: and ardent raise One general song! To Him, ye vocal gales, Breathe soft, whose spirit in your freshness breathes. Oh! talk of Him in solitary glooms, Where o'er the rock the scarcely waving pine Fills the brown shade with a religious awe. And ye, whose bolder note is heard afar, Who shake th' astonished world, lift high to heaven |