Lovely, lasting peace appear! 
  This world itself, if thou art here,
  Is once again with Eden bless’d,
  And Man contains it in his breast.

   ’Twas thus, as under shade I stood,
  I sung my wishes to the wood,
  And, lost in thought, no more perceived
  The branches whisper as they waved:  40
  It seem’d as all the quiet place
  Confess’d the presence of the Grace,
  When thus she spoke:—­’Go, rule thy will;
  Bid thy wild passions all be still;
  Know God—­and bring thy heart to know
  The joys which from Religion flow: 
  Then every Grace shall prove its guest,
  And I’ll be there to crown the rest.’

   Oh! by yonder mossy seat,
  In my hours of sweet retreat; 50
  Might I thus my soul employ,
  With sense of gratitude and joy! 
  Raised as ancient prophets were,
  In heavenly vision, praise, and prayer;
  Pleasing all men, hurting none,
  Pleased and bless’d with God alone: 
  Then, while the gardens take my sight
  With all the colours of delight;
  While silver waters glide along,
  To please my ear, and court my song:  60
  I’ll lift my voice, and tune my string,
  And Thee, Great Source of Nature! sing.

   The sun, that walks his airy way,
  To light the world, and give the day;
  The moon, that shines with borrow’d light;
  The stars, that gild the gloomy night;
  The seas, that roll unnumber’d waves;
  The wood, that spreads its shady leaves;
  The field, whose ears conceal the grain,
  The yellow treasure of the plain;—­ 70
  All of these, and all I see,
  Should be sung, and sung by me: 
  They speak their Maker as they can,
  But want, and ask, the tongue of man.

   Go, search among your idle dreams,
  Your busy, or your vain extremes;
  And find a life of equal bliss,
  Or own the next begun in this!

* * * * *

  THE HERMIT.

  Far in a wild, unknown to public view,
  From youth to age a reverend hermit grew;
  The moss his bed, the cave his humble cell,
  His food the fruits, his drink the crystal well: 
  Remote from man, with God he pass’d the days,
  Prayer all his business, all his pleasure praise.

   A life so sacred, such serene repose,
  Seem’d heaven itself, till one suggestion rose: 
  That vice should triumph, virtue vice obey,
  This sprung some doubt of Providence’s sway; 10
  His hopes no more a certain prospect boast,
  And all the tenor of his soul is lost: 
  So when a smooth expanse receives impress’d
  Calm Nature’s image on its watery breast,
  Down bend the banks, the trees depending grow,
  And skies beneath with answering colours glow: 
  But if a stone the gentle scene divide,
  Swift ruffling circles curl on every side,
  And glimmering fragments of a broken sun,
  Banks, trees, and skies, in thick disorder run. 20