THE JOYS OF HOME AFTER DISAPPOINTMENTS

THE faint red sky now rises fast;
The Cock he claps his wings,
And crows before the fun appears;
The Lark she sweetly sings.

See how that crimson-red spreads wide
O'er all the milky skies;
The distant hills, when clouds are fled,
Do share the sun's early rays;

They catch the Morning's sweet'ning ray,
That's glorious for it's light;
That spreads abroad his sunny beams,
O'er plains of verdure bright!

O'er waving banks and purling streams,
And o'er each thing below,
'Tis sun that gives a vital pow'r,
To trees and herbs that grow.

Come, Contemplation, with my join!
I'll through yon forest roam!
True nature I will there find out,
In ev'ry vale and plain!

They'll precepts in my heart instill,
For which I'll banish pain
Far hence, along with guilty joy,
That me with venom sting!

Then pray, with-hold your squints and smiles;
N' allurements to me bring;
Likewise with-hold all mad'ning drink,
That may my brains inflame!

Some pleasant joy I'll now impart,
That animates the heart!
I'm now secluded from that crowd
Which long has caus'd me smart!

Though rob'd of all my worldly wealth,
And all my former fame,
Any my dear friends me no more know
I ne'er shall Fortune blame;

Nor curse the Pow'rs, who thus dispose
Of all things to their mind;
Ev'n all of my suff'rings and my woes,
They're from a Pow'r divine!

Here in this humble, peaceful place,
My grateful wish I'll send
To Heav'n, where peace and mercy stays,
The world without an end!

May Virtue guide me to my grave,
That place where sorrows cease,
Then farewell fields adorn'd with flow'rs
And woods with tow'ring trees!

All Nature's scenes are beautiful;
In them true bliss I find--
No longer I my Fate bewail;
I'm cheerful in my mind.

Untainted with ambitious care,
My little, scanty meal
Is all the joys I here do share
In this place where I do dwell.

Kind Nature all my wants supplies;
From strife I'm here retir'd:
No thund'ring scold gives me surprise;
My breast with wrath's ne'er fir'd.

'Tis chearfulness and social rest,
Endear my happy home,
And each returning Morn and Ev'n
Bring fresh supplies along.

Great thanks to Him, whose lib'ral hand
The fields with food hath spread,
By whose omnipotent command,
The poor are cloth'd and fed.

Not unescap'd one blessing flies,
That's link'd in Nature's chan;
That comes to use from yonder Heav'n
Nor unremark'd our pain.

Thus ev'ry care, for which we mourn,
Is balanc'd with it's pleasure;
And ev'ry ill, to which we're born,
Is rightly view'd's a treasure.