And tears of pity would not be represt.
Heav’n sends misfortunes; why should we repine?
’Tis heav’n has brought me to the state you see;
And your condition may be soon like mine,
The child of sorrow and of misery.
A little farm was my paternal lot,
Then like the lark I sprightly hail’d the morn:
But, ah! oppression forc’d me from my cot,
My cattle died, and blighted was my corn.
My daughter, once the comfort of my age,
Lur’d by a villain from her native home,
Is cast abandon’d on the world’s wide stage,
And doom’d in scanty poverty to roam.
My tender wife, sweet soother of my care,
Struck with sad anguish at the stern decree,
Fell, ling’ring fell, a victim to despair,
And left the world to wretchedness and me.
Pity the sorrows of a poor
Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your door;
Whose days are dwindled to the shortest span,
Oh! give relief, and heav’n will bless your store.
Oh, first of human blessings and supreme, Fair Peace! how lovely, how delightful, thou! By whose wide tie, the kindred sons of men, brothers live, in amity combin’d, And unsuspicious faith: while honest toil Gives ev’ry joy; and, to those joys, a right, Which idle barbarous rapine but usurps. Pure is thy reign; when, unaccurs’d by blood, Nought, save the sweetness of indulgent show’rs, Trickling, distils into the vernant glebe; Instead of mangled carcases, sad scene! When the blythe sheaves lie scatter’d o’er the field; When only shining shares, the crooked knife, And hooks imprint the vegetable wound; When the land blushes with the rose alone, The falling fruitage, and the bleeding vine. Oh! peace! then source and soul of social life! Beneath whose calm inspiring influence, Science his views enlarges, art refines, And swelling commerce opens all her ports— Bless’d be the man divine, who gives us thee! Who bids the trumpet hush its horrid clang, Nor blow the giddy nations into rage; Who sheathes the murd’rous blade; the deadly gun Into the well-pil’d armory returns; And, ev’ry vigour from the work of death To grateful industry converting, makes The country flourish, and the city smile! Unviolated, him the virgin sings; And him, the smiling mother, to her train. Of him, the Shepherd, in the peaceful dale, Chaunts; and the treasures of his labour sure, The husbandman, of him, as at the plough, Or team, he toils. With him, the Tailor soothes, Beneath the trembling moon, the midnight wave; And the full city, warm, from street to street, And shop to shop, responsive rings of him. Nor joys one land alone: his praise extends, Far as the sun rolls the diffusive day; Far as the breeze can bear the gifts of peace; Till all the happy nations catch the song.
PROGRESS OF LIFE.