BLE No Power can draw, no Charms entice; O'er neighboring Streams their Branches throw Loaden with smiling Fruit appear : So This Man flourishes, nor cafts His Fruits, nor fears untimely Blasts: Are toft like Chaff, the Sport of Winds. In which the Ways of Virtue end, A HYMN. A HYM N. I. THAT Holy, what Sincere Delights, WHA RELIGION does afford! How Sweet to a refined Tafte, Thy rich Provifion, LORD! II. Honours let Others chace, and feed Or guilty and polluted Joys With fhort Delufion fhare. III. Let Mine be more fubftantial Blifs! Be Mine more folid Food! My Heart to Nobler Heights afpires, IV. Let IV. Let Sons of Earth, the Duft of Earth, Its glittering Dust admire : Poor fordid Minds pursue the Gains, That fuit a low Defire. V. For Me-My GOD let Me poffels ; My Glory This, my Joy, my All! VI. When on her high Original My Heaven-born Soul reflects; With a becoming Pride, the World Difdainful fhe rejects: VII. Nor stoops to court these humble Goods, So much beneath her State. Such Condefcenfion is too Low, And She her-felf too Great. VIII. When |