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THE UNIVERSAL PRAYER.

FATHER of all! in ev'ry age,
In ev'ry clime, ador'd,

By faint, by favage, and by fage,
Jehovah, Jove, or Lord!

Thou great first-caufe, leaft understood,
Who all my fenfe confin'd,
To know but this, that thou art good;
And that myself am blind.

Yet gave me, in this dark estate,
To fee the good from ill;
And, binding nature faft in fate,
Left free the human will.

What confcience dictates to be done,
Or warns me not to do,
This, teach me more then Hell to fhun,
That, more than Heav'n purfue.
What bleffings thy free bounty gives,
Let me not caft away;

For God is paid when man receives;
T'enjoy is to obey.

Yet not to earth's contracted fpan
Thy goodness let me bound,"
Or think thee Lord alone of man,
When thousand worlds are round.
Let not this weak, unknowing hand,
Prefume thy bolts to throw,
And deal damnation round the land
On each I judge thy foe.

If I am right, thy grace impart,
Still in the right to ftay:

If I am wrong, oh teach my heart
To find that better way.

Save me alike from foolish pride,
Or impious difcontent,

At ought thy wisdom has deny'd,
Or aught thy goodness lent.

Teach me to feel another's woe,
To hide the fault I fee;
That mercy I to others fhew,
That mercy shew to me.
Mean though I am, not wholly fo,
Since quicken'd by thy breath;
O lead me wherefo'er I go,

Through this day's life or death.
This day, be bread and peace my lot;
All elfe beneath the fun,

Thou know'ft if best bestow'd or not,
And let thy will be done.

To thee, whofe temple is all space;
Whofe altar, earth, fea, fkies!
One chorus let all beings raife!
All nature's incenfe rife !--

THE HAPPY LIFE.

A Book, a friend, a fong, a glafs,
A chafte, yet laughter-loving lafs,
To mortals various joys impart,
Inform the fenfe, and warm the heart.
Thrice happy they, who carelefs laid
Beneath a kind-embow'ring fhade,
With rofy wreaths their temples crown,
In rofy wine their forrows drown.
Meanwhile the mufes wake the lyre,
The graces modeft mirth inspire,
Good-natur'd humour, harmless wit;
Well temper'd joys, nor grave, nor light.

Let facred Venus with her heir,
And dear IANTHE too be there.
Mufic and wine in concert move
With beauty, and refining love.

There PEACE fhall spread her dove-like wing,
And bid her olives round us fpring.

There TRUTH fhall reign, a facred gueft!
And INNOCENCE, to crown the reft.
Begone, AMBITION, riches, toys,
And fplendid cares, and guilty joys!-
Give me a book, a friend, a glafs,
And a chafte, laughter-loving lafs.

INSCRIPTION

AT THE ENTRANCE OF A BURIAL GROUND FOR NEGRO SLAVES, IN A GROVE OF PIMENTO.

STRANGER! whoe'er thou art, with rev'rence tread,

Lo! thefe, the filent manfions of the dead!
His life of labour o'er, the wearied flave
Here finds, at length, foft quiet in the grave:
View not, with proud difdain, th' unfculptur'd heap,
Where injur'd innocence forgets to weep,
Not idly deem, although not here are found
The folemn aifle and confecrated ground,
The fpot lefs facred :--o'er the turf-built fhrine,
Where virtue fleeps, refides the power divine.

CONTENT.

O'ER moorlands and mountains, rude, barren,

and bare,

As wilder'd and weary'd, I roam,

A gentle young fhepherdefs fees my despair,

And leads me-o'er lawns-to her home:

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Yellow fheaves from rich Ceres her cottage had crown'd,

Green rushes were ftrew'd on her floor,

Her cafement, fweet woodbines crept wantonly. round,

And deck'd the fod feats at the door.

We fat ourselves down to a cooling repaft,
Fresh fruits! and the cull'd me the beft;

While thrown from my guard, by fome glances fhe caft,

Love flily ftole into my breaft!

I told my foft wifhes; the fweetly reply'd,
(Ye virgins, her voice was divine!)

I've rich ones rejected, and great ones deny'd,
But take me, fond fhepherd--I'm thine.
Her air was fo modeft, her aspect fo meek!
So fimple, yet fweet, were her charms!
I kifs'd the ripe roses that glow'd on her cheek,
And lock'd the dear maid in my arms.
Now jocund together we tend a few sheep,
And if, by yon prattle, the ftream,
Reclin'd on her bofom, I fink into fleep,
Her image ftill foftens my dream.

Together we range o'er the flow rising hills,
Delighted with paftoral views,

Or reft on the rock whence the ftreamlet diftils,
And point out new themes for my mufe.
To pomp or proud titles fhe ne'er did afpire,
The damfel's of humble defcent;

The cottager, PEACE, is well known for her fire,
And fhepherds have nam'd her CONTENT.

THIRST.

OLD earth, when in a tippling vein,
Drinks torrents of ambrofial rain,
Which the tall trees, by heat oppreft,
Drink from her kind maternal breafi:

Left angry ocean fhould be dry,
The river gods their ftores fupply:
The monarch of the glowing day
Drinks large potations from the fea:
And the pale emprefs of the night
Drinks from his orb propitious light:
All-all things drink-abftemious fage!
Why should not we our thirst afsuage ?

THE COUNTRY CLERGYMAN.

NEAR yonder copfe, where once the garden fimil❜d,
And still where many a garden flower grows wild;
There, where a few torn fhrubs the place difclofe,
The village preacher's modeft mansion rofe.
A man he was, to all the country dear,
And paffing rich with forty pounds a-year;
Remote from towns he ran his godly race,
Nore'er had chang'd, nor wish'd to change his place;
Unfkilful he to fawn, or feek for power,
By doctrines fashion'd to the varying hour;
Far other aims his heart had learn'd to prize,
More bent to raise the wretched than to rife.
His houfe was known to all the vagrant train,
He chid their wand'rings, but reliev'd their pain ;
The long-remember'd beggar was his gueft,
Whofe beard defcending fwept his aged breaft;
The ruin'd fpendthrift, now no longer proud,
Claim'd kindred there, and had his claims allow'd;
The broken foldier, kindly bid to stay,

Sat by his fire, and talk'd the night away;
Wept o'er his wounds, or, tales of forrow done,
Shoulder'd his crutch, and show'd how fields were

won.

Pleas'd with his guefts, the good man learn'd to glow,
And quite forgot their vices in their woe;

Carelefs their merits, on their faults to scan,
His pity gave ere charity began.

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