By cooling streams, and softening showers,
The vegetable race are fed ;

And trees, and plants, and herbs, and flowers,
Their Maker's bounty smiling spread.

The flow'ry tribes, all blooming, rise
Above the faint attempts of art;
Their bright, inimitable dyes,

Speak sweet conviction to the heart.

Ye curious minds, who roam abroad,
And trace creation's wonders o'er,
Confess the footsteps of your God,
And bow before him and adore.

The Good Man Happy.

How

more than bless'd the Man! how truly wise!

Who from the paths of treach'rous pleasure flics; Who laughs at honors, riches, pomp, and state, Convinced the virtuous man alone is great; That grandeur can't prevent the heart-felt sigh, And wealth is oft but splendid poverty.

He knows how great a fine, how dear a price,
The rash unthinking fool must pay for vice;
By flying pleasure, pleasure he enjoys;
Pleasure sincere, delight that never cloys :.
Each night he calmly lays him down to rest,
By no tormenting loads of guilt oppress'd.
His hours, in one smooth, even current flow,
Unruffled, undisturb'd by heart-felt woe.
To him what joys the charms of nature yield !
The blushing garden and the verdant field;
The trees, whose leafy tops sublimely rise;
The distant hills that touch the bending skies;
The silent walk, whose shades the day exclude,
The sweet retreat of musing solitude.
What though in purple robes he cannot glare,
Yet virtue's decent garment he can wear :
What though a kingly crown is not his fate,
Crowns made in heav'n, on virtuous deeds await.

Their swift wing'd hours, while others idly
waste,

Neglecting learning's sacred spring to taste,
He largely quaffs the pure delightful stream;
While o'er his soul bright rays of knowledge beam.
He ne'er is seen where luxury presides,
Who, poison in her tempting treasures hides:
He shuns th' enticing harlot's lewd embrace,
And thence he shuns disease, remorse, disgrace.

Sweet blooming child of virtue, smiling health
Is his-a blessing greater far than wealth;
Than gilded pageantry, and glaring state,
And all the boasted honors of the great,
O'er others faults he kindly throws a veil,
Content those faults in secret to bewail:
Unlike the wretch who every where reveals
The frailties cautious charity conceals;
Who, eager that his neighbor's crimes be known,
Displays, with greater certainty, his own.

What is't to him, vain folly's ideot grin ? What all the scoffs and taunts of hell-born sin? Whom wisdom has determined for her own, And virtue, heaven's bright offspring, calls her son. Shall one of such descent, such heavenly birth, Envy, however great, the sons of earth? Shall not his heart with pity overflow To see the proud so mean, the great so low? Thus when an angel on some high behest, Forsakes the golden mansion of the bless'd, The wing'd celestial smiles at mortal things, And views with pity, (what men envy,) Kings.

The sons of profanation he detests,

Those witty fools, whose arguments are jests; Who, for a laughing hour, heaven's joys forego, And weep eternally with fiends below.

Passion and prejudice he lays aside,
And truth's worst enemy, vain reasoning pride;
No superstitious doubts his soul affright;

Should reason err-he knows his heart is right. When the pale tyrant, Death, with threat'ning hands,

Before his couch, in form terrific, stands;
Virtue shall chace the tyrant from his bed,
And place a lovely angel in his stead ;
Who, when the fatal conflict is no more,
Shall bear his soul to heaven's all-peaceful shore.

Epigram,

BY DR. DODDRIDGE.

On his Motto,---."Dum vivimus, vivamus."

"LIVE while you live," the epicure will say, "And take the pleasures of the present day :""Live while you live," the sacred preacher cries, "And give to God each moment as it flies."Lord! in my view let both united be!

I live in pleasure, while I live to THEE!

U

Ode on the King's Recovery.*

ANNO 1789.

-Redeunt Saturnia regna. Virgil.

OBE not mute, my rural lyre!
Upon this blest, auspicious day;
But, simplest of the tuneful choir,
Thy heart-born tribute pay.

Quick to rapture, every eye
Glistens with the pearl of joy ;
Britain, all her shores along,

Spreads the universal song:

Pride burns his pedigree; and, rank forgot,
Th' imperial palace bows, and mingles with the cot.

* This ode was written, and published on the spur of the occasion, previous to a general illumination, by which it was intended to commemorate this event. The author meant at once, to evince his own gratitude, and to beseech the forbearance of the public, towards a class of Dissenters, whose principles forbid them, to demonstrate the satisfaction of the heart, by exterior fire and flame. It therefore appeared in the Sheffield Register; a paper, which hath, since the emigra tion of its former editor, assumed the title of the IRIS; and which is pre-eminently distinguished amongst provincial prints, by the genius of its present owner, and editor, JAMES MONTGOMERY.