| Citation |
NHG-P.770.064
23 Nov 1770:41 (736)
A MORNING MEDITATION.
The meek ey'd mourn appears, mother of dews. Thompson.
Morning now reigns how beautifully fair
Is yonder lofty sky, how cool the air!
The sons of riot have not long repos'd
Their giddy heads, scarce are their eyelids clos'd:
Unhappy men! flee pleasure's fatal ways,
Virtue alone, true happiness can raise:
. . . [14 more lines]
The sturdy oxen, from the verdant mead,
Rise lowing, while exalted over head
The feather'd choir in various notes combine,
To celebrate his praise who is divine:
How chearfully the spring from spray to spray,
And with soft music usher in the day:
The tuneful lark is now ascending high,
With fluttering wings, gay warbling in the sky,
Shall man be silent in the gen'ral choir?
Nor with concordant voice God's love admire?
Shall man profusely spend his precious hours?
No! let him nerve his intellectual powers,
Nor on the couch of ease, dull dozing lie,
While the bright sun inflames the azure sky.
. . . [18 more lines, signed] M.R.
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