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Brutes graze the mountain-top, with faces prone,
And eyes intent upon the scanty herb
It yields them; or, recumbent on its brow,
Ruminate, heedless of the scene outspread
Beneath, beyond, and stretching far away
From inland regions to the distant main.
Man views it, and admires; but rests content
With what he views. The landscape has his praise,
But not its Author. Unconcerned who formed

The Paradise he sees, he finds it such,
And such well pleased to find it, asks no more.

Not so the mind that has been touched from Heaven,
And in the school of sacred wisdom taught

To read his wonders, in whose thought the world,
Fair as it is, existed ere it was.

Nor for its own sake merely, but for His

Much more who fashioned it, he gives it praise-
Praise that from earth resulting, as it ought,

To earth's acknowledged Sovereign, finds at once
Its only just proprietor in Him.

The soul that sees Him, or receives sublimed
New faculties, or learns at least to employ
More worthily the powers she owned before,
Discerns in all things what, with stupid gaze
Of ignorance, till then she overlooked
A ray of heavenly light, gilding all forms.
Terrestrial in the vast and the minute;
The unambiguous footsteps of the God,
Who gives its lustre to an insect's wing,
And wheels His throne upon the rolling worlds.
Much conversant with heaven, she often holds
With those fair ministers of light to man,

That fill the skies nightly with silent pomp,
Sweet conference; inquires what strains were they
With which heaven rang, when every star, in haste
To gratulate the new-created earth,

Sent forth a voice, and all the sons of God
Shouted for joy. "Tell me, ye shining hosts,
That navigate a sea that knows no storms,
Beneath a vault unsullied with a cloud,
If from your elevation, whence ye view

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Distinctly scenes invisible to man,
And systems of whose birth no tidings yet
Have reached this nether world, ye spy a race
Favored as ours; transgressors from the womb,
And hasting to a grave, yet doomed to rise,
And to possess a brighter heaven than yours?
As one, who, long detained on foreign shores,
Pants to return, and when he sees afar

His country's weather-bleached and battered rocks,
From the green wave emerging, darts an eye
Radiant with joy towards the happy land,
So I with animated hopes behold,

And many an aching wish, your beamy fires,
That show like beacons in the blue abyss,
Ordained to guide the embodied spirit home
From toilsome life to never-ending rest.
Love kindles as I gaze. I feel desires
That give assurance of their own success,
And that, infused from heaven, must thither tend.”

ON THE RECEIPT OF HIS MOTHER'S PICTURE. O THAT those lips had language! Life has passed With me but roughly since I heard thee last. Those lips are thine thy own sweet smiles I see, The same that oft in childhood solaced me; Voice only fails, else how distinct they say, "Grieve not, my child; chase all thy fears away!" The meek intelligence of those dear eyesBlest be the art that can immortalize,

The art that baffles time's tyrannic claim

To quench it here shines on me still the same. Faithful remembrancer of one so dear,

O welcome guest, though unexpected here!
Who bidd'st me honor, with an artless song
Affectionate, a mother lost so long.
I will obey, not willingly alone,

But gladly, as the precept were her own:
And while that face renews my filial grief,
Fancy shall weave a charm for my relief;
Shall steep me in Elysian reverie,
A momentary dream, that thou art she.

My mother, when I learned that thou wast dead,
Say, wast thou conscious of the tears I shed?
Hovered thy spirit o'er thy sorrowing son,
Wretch even then, life's journey just begun?
Perhaps thou gav'st me, though unseen, a kiss;
Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss.
Ah, that maternal smile! it answers, Yes.
I heard the bell tolled on thy burial-day,
I saw the hearse that bore thee slow away,
And, turning from my nursery window, drew
A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu !
But was it such? It was. Where thou art gone,
Adieus and farewells are a sound unknown.
May I but meet thee on that peaceful shore,
The parting sound shall pass my lips no more!
Thy maidens, grieved themselves at my concern,
Oft gave me promise of a quick return :
What ardently I wished, I long believed,
And, disappointed still, was still deceived;
By disappointment every day beguiled,
Dupe of to-morrow even from a child.
Thus many a sad to-morrow came and went,
Till, all my stock of infant sorrow spent,
I learned at last submission to my lot;
But, though I less deplored thee, ne'er forgot.

And now, farewell. Time unrevoked has run
His wonted course, yet what I wished is done.
By contemplation's help, not sought in vain,
I seem to have lived my childhood o'er again :
To have renewed the joys that once were mine,
Without the sin of violating thine;
And, while the wings of fancy still are free,
And I can view this mimic show of thee,
Time has but half succeeded in his theft,
Thyself removed, thy power to soothe me left.

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A train-band captain eke was he

Of famous London town.


JOHN GILPIN was a citizen

John Gilpin at his horse's side

Of credit and renown:

Seized fast the flowing mane,
And up he got, in haste to ride,
But soon came down again;

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