Would make his fate his choice; whom peace, the fruit
Of virtue, and whom virtue, fruit of faith,
Prepare for happiness; befpeak him one
Content indeed to fojourn while he must
Below the skies, but having there his home,
The world o'erlooks him in her bufy fearch:
Of objects more illuftrious in her view;
And, occupy'd as earnestly as she,
Though more fublimely, he o'erlooks the world.
She scorns his pleasures, for fhe knows them not;
He seeks not hers, for he has prov'd them vain.
He cannot skim the ground like fummer birds
Pursuing gilded flies, and fuch he deems
Her honors, her emoluments, her joys,
Therefore in contemplation is his blifs,
Whose pow'r is fuch, that whom she lifts from earth She makes familiar with a heav'n unseen,
And shows him glories yet to be reveal'd.
Not flothful he, though feeming unemploy'd,
And cenfur'd oft as ufelefs.
Oft water faireft meadows, and the bird
That flutters leaft, is longeft on the wing.
Afk him, indeed, what trophies he has rais'd,
Or what atchievements of immortal fame
He purposes, and he fhall anfwer-none.
His warfare is within. There unfàtigu'd
His fervent fpirit labours. There he fights,
And there obtains fresh triumphs o'er himself,
And never withʼring wreaths, compar'd with which
The laurels that a Cæfar reaps are weeds.
Perhaps the felf-approving haughty world,
That as fhe sweeps him with her whistling filks
Scarce deigns to notice him, or if she fee
Deems him a cypher in the works of God,
Receives advantage from his noiseless hours
Of which the little dreams. Perhaps the owes
Her funfhine 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 bustler in concerns
Of little worth, and idler în 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 sphere
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 tafte of comfort in a world of woe,
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 fcale of life
Holds no ignoble, though a flighted place.
The man whofe virtues are more felt than seen,
Muft drop indeed the hope of public praise;
But he may boast 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
Because that world adopts it. If it bear
The stamp and clear impreffion of good sense,
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 fhe.
She judges of refinement by the eye,
He by the teft of conscience, and a heart
Not foon deceiv'd; aware that what is bafe
No polish can make fterling, and that vice,
Though well perfum'd and elegantly drefs'd,
Like an unburied carcafe trick'd with flow'rs,
Is but a garnifh'd nuisance, fitter far
For cleanly riddance than for fair attire.
So life glides smoothly and by stealth 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 fhare of duties decently fulfill'd,
May fome disease, not tardy to perform
Its deftin'd office, yet with gentle stroke,
Dismiss me weary to a safe retreat
Beneath the turf that I have often trod.
It shall not grieve me, then, that 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 task; but foon, to please her more
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