To cheer our path as featly as we may,
        Our lonely path to cheer, as trav’llers use,
          With merry song, quaint tale, or roundelay;
        And we will sometimes talk past troubles o’er,
          Of mercies shewn, and all our sickness heal’d,
          And in his judgments God rememb’ring love;
        And we will learn to praise God evermore,
          For those glad tidings of great joy reveal’d
          By that sooth Messenger sent from above.

TO A YOUNG LADY

(Early, 1797)

Hard is the heart that does not melt with ruth,
When care sits, cloudy, on the brow of youth;
When bitter griefs the female bosom swell,
And Beauty meditates a fond farewell
To her lov’d native land, prepar’d to roam,
And seek in climes afar the peace denied at home. 
The Muse, with glance prophetic, sees her stand
(Forsaken, silent lady) on the strand
Of farthest India, sick’ning at the roar
Of each dull wave, slow dash’d upon the shore;
Sending, at intervals, an aching eye
O’er the wide waters, vainly, to espy
The long-expected bark, in which to find
Some tidings of a world she left behind. 
At such a time shall start the gushing tear,
For scenes her childhood lov’d, now doubly dear. 
At such a time shall frantic mem’ry wake
Pangs of remorse, for slighted England’s sake;
And for the sake of many a tender tie
Of love, or friendship, pass’d too lightly by. 
Unwept, unhonour’d, ’midst an alien race,
And the cold looks of many a stranger face,
How will her poor heart bleed, and chide the day,
That from her country took her far away.

LIVING WITHOUT GOD IN THE WORLD

        (? 1798)

        Mystery of God! thou brave and beauteous world,
        Made fair with light and shade and stars and flowers,
        Made fearful and august with woods and rocks,
        Jagg’d precipice, black mountain, sea in storms,
        Sun, over all, that no co-rival owns,
        But thro’ Heaven’s pavement rides as in despite
        Or mockery of the littleness of man! 
        I see a mighty arm, by man unseen,
        Resistless, not to be controul’d, that guides,
        In solitude of unshared energies,
        All these thy ceaseless miracles, O world! 
        Arm of the world, I view thee, and I muse
        On Man, who, trusting in his mortal strength,
        Leans on a shadowy staff, a staff of dreams. 
        We consecrate our total hopes and fears
        To idols, flesh and blood, our love, (heaven’s due)
        Our praise and admiration; praise bestowed
        By man on man, and acts of worship done
        To a kindred nature, certes do reflect
        Some portion of the glory and rays oblique
        Upon the politic worshipper,—­so man