AS early o’er the dewy lawn
I took my pensive way;
The brilliants of the opening morn
Adorn’d each waving spray.
Apt emblem of the joys of youth,
In magic garb array’d:
Those evanescent hopes of life,
Which quickly bloom and fade.
Like these their splendour shall decrease,
Like these they tremble too;
Yet still those fleeting forms we seek,
And still those joys pursue.
Life’s hopes, so transient in their stay,
Our sober judgment warn;
For as the beams from yon bright orb
Shall drink the drops of morn;
So will experience soon destroy
Each half expanded flow’r;
And frowning on the opening scene,
The gathering tempest low’r.
Experience points to yonder rose,
So thorny yet so sweet;
And tells us we shall never find,
Life’s promis’d hopes complete.
Some sorrow waits on ev’ry joy,
This time will soon disclose;
For see the sharpest thorns surround
The sweetest flower that blows.
These woes, that purify the soul,
Parental love declare;
For ev’ry wound that Heav’n inflicts,
He gives us strength to bear.
Our future good is His design,
Who orders all below;
That spring of neverfailing good,
Whose streams for ever flow.
Yon songster, earliest of the tribe,
Already on the wing,
Raises unseen his matin lays,
Which thro’ heav’n’s concave ring.
Still cherish’d by an unknown hand,
Whose powers we all obey;
His notes resounding from afar,
Salute the opening day.
Sweet warbler, in thy early song
My gratitude would join;
Our strains united shall ascend,
To praise his love divine.
This heartfelt off’ring shall arise
To him who reigns on high;
Whose matchless bounty condescends,
To hear each feeble cry.
Tho’ late o’er all the drowsy earth,
The shades of night were spread;
Reviving at the breath of morn,
Each blossom lifts its head.
Inviting us to walk abroad,
And morn’s sweet breath inhale;
While with increasing odours fill’d,
They scent the passing gale.
See, to obtain their honied store,
The industrious bees repair;
And seek the primrosecover’d bank,
To find their treasure there.
Each blossom, humble tho’ it seem,
The luscious banquet gives;
Which man too often unconcern’d,
With thankless heart receives.
(Elizabeth Bath)
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