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Article TO INDUSTRY. ← Page 2 of 2 Article WRITTEN IN MEMORY OF MY FATHER, Page 1 of 1 Article PORTRAIT OF AN HYPOCRITE. Page 1 of 1
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To Industry.
Nov / here , now there , the hurrying billows tossing , Prevent the gentler influence of the god ; Injur'd Propriety my vision crossing , In vain complaining shews Reflection's rod . But chief at morn , when from the neighb'ring shed I hear thy voice , O Industry , so carl }' ,
I wake , I rouse , Slid lift my drowsy head , O then this laziness , which loves me dearly , Peeps in my face so languishingly coaxirig , Feels , for my broken rest a thousand fears , Oblivion ' s stream my nose so softly pokes in — And strait I'm gone again o ' er head and ears . E ' en now she ' s picking Fancy ' s terider wing ,
On sweet poetic pasty shuts the door : Singing I gape , and gaping , lo I I sing , Excuse , O Industry—I can no more !
Written In Memory Of My Father,
WRITTEN IN MEMORY OF MY FATHER ,
WHO DIED 29 tll DECEMBER I 7 S 9 .
FREED frdm the dreary troublous vale ' of life , Here rests the " husband , fattier , and the friend , " ' Sickness and health forego their wonted strife ;' Death's ebon darts tlieir . opposition end . Light lies the turf upon the peaceful breast Whose mansion pure / cw earth-born passions stain'd Where pride ne ' er gloom d oh its continual rest ,
Nor factious Envy with her breath profan'd . Has Death involv'd thee in this cloud of night While Hope and Pleasure beam'd their cheerful ray ? So fades Aurora's ineffectual light When the dark evening circumscribes the day . Care , Pain , and Grief , terrific , gloom no more , But seem to pave a golden-. way to Heav ' n I
The race to reach the distant goal is o'er ; The toil is ended , and thc prize is giv ' n !¦ And whilst on yonder " siar-pav'd plain" you rove , And pitying view us active forms of clay , Accept the last sad tribute of our love—The best thy ione posterity can pay ' ¦
Portrait Of An Hypocrite.
PORTRAIT OF AN HYPOCRITE .
HIS aspect mild , his manners smooth and civil ; In words a perfect saint , in works a d 1 . His canting tongue acts the dissembler ' s part , Whilst mischief lurks in his nefarious heart ; No snarling symptoms — yet most sure to bite — Jlark him , my friends , and sourrt the hvoocriu ! _ Vv * - ' i 2
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
To Industry.
Nov / here , now there , the hurrying billows tossing , Prevent the gentler influence of the god ; Injur'd Propriety my vision crossing , In vain complaining shews Reflection's rod . But chief at morn , when from the neighb'ring shed I hear thy voice , O Industry , so carl }' ,
I wake , I rouse , Slid lift my drowsy head , O then this laziness , which loves me dearly , Peeps in my face so languishingly coaxirig , Feels , for my broken rest a thousand fears , Oblivion ' s stream my nose so softly pokes in — And strait I'm gone again o ' er head and ears . E ' en now she ' s picking Fancy ' s terider wing ,
On sweet poetic pasty shuts the door : Singing I gape , and gaping , lo I I sing , Excuse , O Industry—I can no more !
Written In Memory Of My Father,
WRITTEN IN MEMORY OF MY FATHER ,
WHO DIED 29 tll DECEMBER I 7 S 9 .
FREED frdm the dreary troublous vale ' of life , Here rests the " husband , fattier , and the friend , " ' Sickness and health forego their wonted strife ;' Death's ebon darts tlieir . opposition end . Light lies the turf upon the peaceful breast Whose mansion pure / cw earth-born passions stain'd Where pride ne ' er gloom d oh its continual rest ,
Nor factious Envy with her breath profan'd . Has Death involv'd thee in this cloud of night While Hope and Pleasure beam'd their cheerful ray ? So fades Aurora's ineffectual light When the dark evening circumscribes the day . Care , Pain , and Grief , terrific , gloom no more , But seem to pave a golden-. way to Heav ' n I
The race to reach the distant goal is o'er ; The toil is ended , and thc prize is giv ' n !¦ And whilst on yonder " siar-pav'd plain" you rove , And pitying view us active forms of clay , Accept the last sad tribute of our love—The best thy ione posterity can pay ' ¦
Portrait Of An Hypocrite.
PORTRAIT OF AN HYPOCRITE .
HIS aspect mild , his manners smooth and civil ; In words a perfect saint , in works a d 1 . His canting tongue acts the dissembler ' s part , Whilst mischief lurks in his nefarious heart ; No snarling symptoms — yet most sure to bite — Jlark him , my friends , and sourrt the hvoocriu ! _ Vv * - ' i 2