ON TIME.. FLY envious Time, till thou run out thy race, Call on the lazy leaden-ftepping hours, Whofe fpeed is but the heavy plummet's pace, And glut thyself with what thy womb deyours, Which is no more than what is falfe and vain, And merely mortal dress ; So little is our lofs, So little is thy gain. For when as each thing bad thou hast intomb'd, And last of all thy greedy felf confum'd, Then long eternity shall greet our blifs With an individual kifs; And joy fhall overtake us as a flood, When every thing that is fincerely good, And perfectly divine, With truth, and peace, and love, fhall ever shine, About the fupreme throne Of him, to whofe happy-making fight alone, When once our heavenly-guided foul shall climb, Then all this earthly groffie's quit, Attir'd with stars, we fhall for ever fit, Triumpling over Death, and Chance, and thee, O Tine. M 3 MILTON. HEAVENLY WISDOM. O HAPPY is the man who hears For fhe has treasures greater far And her reward is more fecure In her right hand she holds in view And in her left, the prize of fame And honor bright appears. She guides the young with innocence, In Pleafure's path to tread, A crown of glory the bestows According as her labours rise, So her rewards increase, Her ways are ways of pleasantnefs, LOGAN, THE PRAISE OF THE CREATOR. PRAISE to God, immortal praise, For the bleffings of the field, Flocks that whiten all the plain; Yellow fheaves of ripen'd grain; Clouds that drop their fatt'ning dews; Suns that temp❜rate warmth diffufe; All that Spring, with bounteous hand, Thefe to thee, my God, we owe, Yet, fhould rifing whirlwinds tear Should the vine put forth no more, Should thine alter'd hand restrain Yet, to thee my soul shall raise BARBAULD. ON TAKING OF BIRDSNESTS. I HAVE found out a gift for my Fair, I have found where the Wood-Pigeons breed: But let me that plunder forbear! She will fay 'tis a barbarous deed. He ne'er can be true, fhe averr'd, SHENSTONE. HYMN ON PROVIDENCE. THE Lord my pasture shall prepare, When in the fultry glebe I faint, |