Truths that the learn'd pursue with eager thought, Are not important always as dearbought,

Proving at last, though told in pompous strains, A childish waste of philosophic pains;

But truths, on which depends our main concern, That 'tis our shame and mis'ry not to learn, Shine by the side of ev'ry path we tread

With such a lustre, he that runs may read.

80

"Tis true that, if to trifle life away

Down to the sunset of their latest day,

Then perish on futurity's wide shore

Like fleeting exhalations, found no more,

Were all that Heav'n requir'd of humankind,
And all the plan their destiny design'd,

What none could rev'rence all might justly blame,
And man would breathe but for his Maker's shame.

But reason heard, and nature well perus'd,

At once the dreaming mind is disabus'd.

If all we find possessing earth, sea, air,

Reflect his attributes, who plac'd them there,

90

Fulfil the purpose, and
and appear design'd

Proofs of the wisdom of th' all-seeing mind,

"Tis plain the creature, whom he chose t' invest With kingship and dominion o'er the rest, Receiv'd his nobler nature, and was made

Fit for the pow'r, in which he stands array'd,
That first, or last, hereafter, if not here,

He too might make his author's wisdom clear,
Praise him on Earth, or, obstinately dumb,
Suffer his justice in a world to come.
This once believ'd, 'twere logic misapplied,
To prove a consequence by none denied,
That we are bound to cast the minds of youth
Betimes into the mould of heav'nly truth,

That taught of God they may indeed be

wise,

Nor ignorantly wand'ring miss the skies.

In early days the conscience has in most

A quickness, which in later life is lost:

101

110

Preserv'd from guilt by salutary fears,

Or guilty soon relenting into tears.

Too careless often, as our years proceed,

What friends we sort with, or what books we read, Our parents yet exert a prudent care,

To feed our infant minds with proper

fare;

And wisely store the nurs'ry by degrees

With wholesome learning, yet acquir'd with ease. Neatly secur'd from being soil'd or torn

Beneath a pane of thin translucent horn,

120

A book (to please us at a tender age

'Tis call'd a book, though but a single page). Presents the pray'r the Saviour deign'd to teach, Which children use, and parsons--when they

preach.

Lisping our syllables, we scramble next

Through moral narrative, or sacred text;

And learn with wonder how this world began,

Who made, who marr'd, and who has ransom'd

man.

Points, which, unless the Scripture made them plain,

The wisest heads might agitate in vain.

130

O thou, whom, borne on fancy's eager wing
Back to the season of life's happy spring,
I pleas'd remember, and, while mem'ry yet
Holds fast her office here, can ne'er forget;
Ingenious dreamer, in whose well-told tale
Sweet fiction and sweet truth alike prevail;
Whose hum'rous vein, strong sense, and simple style,
May teach the gayest, make the gravest smile;
Witty, and well employ'd, and, like thy Lord,
Speaking in parables his slighted word;

I name thee not, lest so despis'd a name

Should move a sneer at thy deserved fame;
Yet ev❜n in transitory life's late day,

140

That mingles all my brown with sober gray,
Revere the man, whose PILGRIM marks the road,
And guides the PROGRESS of the soul to God.
"Twere well with most, if books, that could engage
Their childhood, pleas'd them at a riper age;

The man, approving what had charm'd the boy, Would die at last in comfort, peace, and joy; 150

And not with curses on his heart, who stole

The gem of truth from his unguarded soul.
The stamp of artless piety impress'd

By kind tuition on his yielding breast,

The youth now bearded, and yet pert and raw,
Regards with scorn, though once receiv'd with awe;
And, warp'd into the labyrinth of lies,
That babblers, call'd philosophers, devise,
Blasphemes his creed, as founded on a plan
Replete with dreams, unworthy of a man.
Touch but his nature in it's ailing part,

Assert the native evil of his heart,

160

His pride resents the charge, although the proof
Rise in his forehead,' and seem rank enough:

Point to the cure, describe a Saviour's cross
As God's expedient to retrieve his loss,

See 2 Chron. xxvi, ver. 19.