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To the lake then she waddled, and joining the swan,
She stretched out her neck, and she tried to be one-
But such laughter and scorn did her efforts produce,
All the birds in the air mock'd the poor silly goose.

An owl who sat near, for 't was late in the day,
Did with wisdom and truth, and much gravity, say;
“By your freaks of ambition, and folly let loose,
You're not only no swan, but a very bad goose.”


THERE's beauty in the deep: —
The wave is bluer than the sky;
And though the light shine bright on high,
More softly do the sea-gems glow

That sparkle in the depths below;

The rainbows tints are only made,
When on the waters they are laid,
And sun and moon most sweetly shine
Upon the ocean's level brine.

There's beauty in the deep.

There's music in the deep:
It is not in the surf's rough roar,
Nor in the whisp'ring shelly shore —
They are but earthly sounds that tell
How little of the sea-nymph’s shell,
That sends its loud, clear note abroad,
Or winds its softness through the flood,
Echoes through groves with coral gay,
And dies on spongy banks away.

There’s beauty in the deep.

There's quiet in the deep :-
Above, let tides and tempests rave,

And earth-born whirlwinds wake the wave t
Above, let care and fear contend,
With sin and sorrow to the end:
Here, far beneath the tainted foam,
That frets above our peaceful home,
We dream in joy, and wake in love,
Nor know the rage that yells above.
There’s quiet in the deep.


SHORT is the doubtful empire of the night; And soon, observant of approaching day, The meek-eyed Morn appears, mother of dews, At first faint gleaming in the dappled east; Till far o'er ether spreads the widening glow ; And, from before the lustre of her face, White break the clouds away. With quicken'd step Brown Night retires : young Day pours in apace, And opens all the lawny prospect wide. The dripping rock, the mountain's misty top, Swell on the sight, and brighten with the dawn. Blue, through the dusk, the smoking currents shine; And from the bladed field the fearful hare Limps, awkward: while along the forest-glade The wild deer trip, and often turning gaze At early passenger. Music awakes The native voice of undissembled joy; And thick around the woodland hymns arise. Roused by the cock, the soon-clad shepherd leaves His mossy cottage, where with peace he dwells; And from the crowded fold, in order drives His flock, to taste the verdure of the morn.

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And now the farmer daily sees
His charity rewarded;

The vine's reward for patent hope
I have above recorded.

Patience and resignation are sure to meet their reward.


THESE are, says Archbishop Tillotson, beyond comparison, the two greatest evils in this world; a diseased body, and a discontented mind.

The discontented man is ever restless and uneasy, dissatisfied with his station in life, his connexions, and almost every circumstance that happens to him. He is continually peevish and fretful, impatient of every injury he receives, and unduly impressed with every disappointment he suffers.

He considers others as happier than himself, and enjoys hardly any of the blessings of providence with a calm and grateful mind. He forms to himself a thousand distressing fears concerning futurity, and makes his condition unhappy, by anticipating the misery he may endure, years to come.


Passions are strong emotions of the mind, occasioned by the view of approaching good or evil. These emotions are planted in man by Providence, in order to give him activity, and fit him for society. The directing of our passions to improper objects, or suffering them to hurry us away with them, is the great danger in human life.

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