Would make his fate his choice; whom peace, the fruit

Of virtue, and whom virtue, fruit of faith,

Prepare for happiness; bespeak him one
Content indeed to fojourn while he must
Below the skies, but having there his home.
The world o'erlooks him in her busy search
Of objects, more illuftrious in her view
And, occupied as earnestly as fhe,

Though more fublimely, he o'erlooks the world.
She scorns his pleasures, for fhe knows them not;
He seeks not her's, for he has prov'd them vain.
He cannot skim the ground like fummer birds
Pursuing gilded flies; and fuch he deems
Her honours, her emoluments, her joys.
Therefore in contemplation is his bliss,

Whose pow'r is fuch, that whom she lifts from earth
She makes familiar with a heav'n unfeen;

And shows him glories yet to be reveal'd.

Not flothful he, though feeming unemploy'd,
Stilleft ftreams

And cenfur'd oft as useless.

Oft water fairest meadows, and the bird
That flutters leaft is longeft on the wing.
Ask him, indeed, what trophies he has rais'd,
Or what achivements of immortal fame
He purposes, and he shall answer-None.
His warfare is within. There unfatigu'd
His fervent fpirit labours. There he fights,
And there obtains fresh triumphs o'er himself,
And never with'ring wreaths, compar'd with which
The laurels that a Cæfar reaps are weeds.
Perhaps the felf-approving haughty world,

That as she sweeps him with her whistling filks
Scarce deigns to notice him, or, if she see,
Deems him a cypher in the works of God,
Receives advantage from his noiseless hours,
Of which she little dreams. Perhaps the owes
Her funshine and her rain, her blooming spring
And plenteous harvest, to the pray'r he makes,
When, Ifaac like, the folitary faint

Walks forth to meditate at even-tide,

And think on her, who thinks not for herself.

Forgive him, then, thou buftler in concerns
Of little worth, an idler in the best,

If, author of no mischief and fome good,
He feek his proper happiness by means
That may advance, but cannot hinder, thine,
Nor, though he tread the fecret path of life,
Engage no notice, and enjoy much ease,

Account him an incumbrance on the state,
Receiving benefits, and rend'ring none.

His fphere though humble, if that humble fphere
Shine with his fair example, and though small
His influence, if that influence all be spent
In foothing forrow and in quenching ftrife,
In aiding helpless indigence, in works
From which at leaft a grateful few derive
Some taste of comfort in a world of wo,
Then let the fupercilious great confefs
He ferves his country, recompenfes well
The ftate, beneath the fhadow of whofe vine

He fits fecure, and in the scale of life
Holds no ignoble, though a flighted, place.
The man, whofe virtues are more felt than feen,
Muft drop indeed the hope of public praise;

But he may boaft what few that win it can-
That, if his country stand not by his skill,
At least his follies have not wrought her fall.
Polite refinement offers him in vain

Her golden tube, through which a fenfual world
Draws grofs impurity, and likes it well,

The neat conveyance hiding all th' offence.

Not that he peevishly rejects a mode

Becaufe that world adopts it. If it bear
The stamp and clear impreffion of good fenfe,
And be not coftly more than of true.worth,

He puts it on, and, for decorum fake,

Can wear it e'en as gracefully as she.

She judges of refinement by the eye,
He by the teft of confcience, and a heart
Not foon deceiv'd; aware that what is bafe

No polish can make sterling; and that vice,
Though well perfum'd and elegantly drefs'd,
Like an unburied carcafe trick'd with flow'rs,
Is but a garnish'd nuifance, fitter far
For cleanly riddance than for fair attire.
So life glides fmoothly and by ftealth away,
More golden than that age of fabled gold
Renown'd in ancient fong; not vex'd with care
Or ftain'd with guilt, beneficent, approv❜d
Of God and man, and peaceful in its end.
So glide my life away! and fo at last,
My share of duties decently fulfill'd,
May some disease, not tardy to perform
Its deftin'd office, yet with gentle stroke,
Difmifs me, weary, to a fafe retreat

Beneath the turf that I have often trod.

It shall not grieve me, then, at once, when call'd To drefs a Sofa with the flow'rs of verse,

I play'd awhile, obedient to the fair,

With that light tafk; but foon, to please her more,

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