| Citation |
NHG-P.772.084
11 Sep 1772:31 (829)
The following Ode is finely set to Musick.
Sweet contentment, heavenly bright,
Worship'd thro' the worlds of light;
Void of thee, what's wealth or pow'r,
But the pageants of an hour?
Pride ne'er tastes thy soft repose,
Pomp and grandeur are thy foes;
Yet within the moss grown cell,
Thou with poverty canst dwell.
See your humble swains advance,
Beat the ground in jocund dance
Hark, the merry milk maids sing,
All beneath thy gladsom wing;
Wide beams forth the eternal ray,
All who would be happy may;
And howe'er we change the name,
Virtue and content's the same.
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