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To call to count, or weigh his works anew,
Whose counsels' depth thou canst not understand,
Sith of things subject to thy daily vew

Thou doest not know the causes nor their courses dew.

For take thy ballaunce, if thou be so wise,

And weigh the wind that under heaven doth blow;
Or weigh the light that in the east doth rise,

Or weigh the thought that from man's mind doth flow:
But if the weight of these thou canst not show,
Weigh but one word which from thy lips doth fall;
For how canst thou those greater secrets know,
That doest not know the least things of them all?
Ill can he rule the great that cannot reach the small.

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DEPENDENCE ON DIVINE PROVIDENCE.

THOMSON.

WHEN my breast labours with oppressive care,
And o'er my cheek descends the falling tear,
While all my warring passions are at strife,
Oh, let me listen to the words of life!
Raptures deep-felt his doctrines did impart,
And thus he raised from earth the drooping heart.

Think not, when all your scanty stores afford,
Is spread at once upon the sparing board;
Think not, when worn the homely robe appears
While on the roof the howling tempest bears,
What farther shall this feeble life sustain,
And what shall clothe these shivering limbs again.
Say, does not life its nourishmenf exceed?
And the fair body its investing weed?

Behold! and look away your low despair,—
See the light tenants of the barren air:
To them, nor stores, nor granaries belong;
Nought but the woodland and the pleasing song:
Yet your kind, Heavenly Father bends his eye
On the least wing that flits along the sky.
To him they sing, when spring renews the plain,
To him they cry, in winter's pinching reign;
Nor is their music nor their plaint in vain :
He hears the gay, and the distressful call;
And with unsparing bounty fills them all.

Observe the rising lily's snowy grace,

Observe the various vegetable race;

They neither toil, nor spin, but careless grow;

Yet, see how warm they blush, how bright they glow

What regal vestments can with them compare,
What king so shining, or what queen so fair?

If, ceaseless, thus the fowls of heaven he feeds;
If, o'er the fields, such lucid robes he spreads:
Will he not care for you, ye faithless say?
Is he unwise? or, are ye less than they?

RURAL AND DESCRIPTIVE.

SEASONS.

THE SEASONS.

SPENSER.

So forth issew'd the seasons of the yeare:
First lusty Spring all dight in leaves of flowres
That freshly budded, and new bloosmes did beare,
In which a thousand birds had built their bowres
That sweetly sung to call forth paramours:
And in his hand a javelin he did beare,
And on his head (as fit for warlike stoures)
A guilt engraven morion he did weare;

That as some did him love, so others did him feare.

Then came the jolly Sommer, being dight
In a thin silken cassock coloured greene,
That was unlyned all, to be more light;
And on his head a girlond well beseene

He wore, from which as he had chauffed beene
The sweat did drop; and in his hand he bore
A boawe and shaftes, as he in forrest greene
Had bunted late the libbard or the boare,

And now would bathe his limbes, with labor heated sore.

Then came the Autumne, all in yellow clad,

As though he joyed in his plentious store.
Laden with fruits that made him laugh, full glad

That he had banisht hunger, which to-fore

Had by the belly oft him pinched sore;

Upon his head a wreath that was enrold

With eares of corne of every sort, he bore;

And in his hand a sickle he did holde,

To reape the ripen'd fruits, the which the earth had yold.

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