Ease is the weary merchant’s praye… Who ploughs by night the Ægean flo… When neither moon nor stars appear… Or faintly glimmer through the clo… For ease the Mede with quiver gra…

There is in souls a sympathy with… And as the mind is pitch’d the ear… With melting airs, or martial, bri… Some chord in unison with what we… Is touch’d within us, and the hear…

Time was when I was free as air, The thistle’s downy seed my fare, My drink the morning dew; I perch’d at will on every spray, My form genteel, my plumage gay,

Whence it is, that amazed I hear From yonder withered spray, This foremost morn of all the year… The melody of May? And why, since thousands would be…

Gracious Lord, our children see, By Thy mercy we are free; But shall these, alas! remain Subjects still of Satan’s reign? Israel’s young ones, when of old

O Lord, my best desire fulfil, And help me to resign Life, health, and comfort to Thy… And make Thy pleasure mine. Why whould I shrink at Thy comman…

Honor and happiness unite To make the Christian’s name a pr… How fair the scene, how clear the… That fills the remnant of His day… A kingly character He bears,

Breathe from the gentle south, O… And cheer me from the north; Blow on the treasures of thy word, And call the spices forth! I wish, Thou knowest, to be resig…

Pause here, and think; a monitory… Demands one moment of thy fleeting… Consult life’s silent clock, thy b… Seems it to say—'Health here has… Hast thou the vigour of thy youth?…

Wilds horrid and dark with o’er sh… Rocks that ivy and briers infold, Scenes nature with dread and aston… But I with a pleasure untold; Though awfully silent, and shaggy,…

The genius of the Augustan age His head among Rome’s ruins reare… And bursting with heroic rage, When literary Heron appeared, Thou hast, he cried, like him of o…

A miser traversing his house, Espied, unusual there, a mouse, And thus his uninvited guest Briskly inquisitive address’d: ‘Tell me, my dear, to what cause i…

Thus heav’nward all things tend.… Perfect, and all must be at length… So God has greatly purpos’d; who… In his dishonour’d works himself e… Dishonour, and be wrong’d without…

I sing of a journey to Clifton, We would have perform’d if we coul… Without cart or barrow to lift on Poor Mary and me through the mud; Slee, sla, slud,

Did Cytherea to the skies From this pellucid lymph arise? Or was it Cytherea’s touch, When bathing here, that made it su…