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Are likewise truly blest. But, Oh! what crowds in ev'ry land Are wretched and forlorn; Thro' weary life this lesson learn, That man was made to mourn.
Many and sharp the num'rous ills
Inwoven with our frames! More pointed still we make ourselves, Regret, remorse, and shame! And man, whose heaven-erected face The smiles of love adorn, Man's inhumanity to man
Makes countless thousands mourn!
See yonder poor, o'erlabor'd wight,
If I'm design'd yon lordling's slave, By nature's law design'd,
Why was an independent wish
Or why has man the will and pow'r
Yet, let not this too much, my son,
The poor, oppressèd, honest man,
O death! the poor man's dearest friend, The kindest and the best!
Welcome the hour my agèd limbs
A PRAYER, IN THE PROSPECT OF DEATH
O THOU unknown, Almighty Cause
In whose dread presence, ere an hour,
Thou know'st that Thou hast formèd me
Where human weakness has come short,
Do Thou, All Good! - for such Thou art—
Where with intention I have err'd,
No other plea I have,
But, Thou art good; and Goodness still
MY FATHER WAS A FARMER
TUNE" The Weaver and his Shuttle, O "
My Father was a Farmer upon the Carrick border, O
For without an honest manly heart, no man was worth regarding, O.
Then out into the world my course I did determine, O Tho' to be rich was not my wish, yet to be great was charming, O
My talents they were not the worst: nor yet my education, O
Resolv'd was I, at least to try, to mend my situation, O.
In many a way, and vain essay, I courted fortune's favor; O
Some cause unseen still stept between, to frustrate each endeavor, O
Sometimes by foes I was o'erpower'd; sometimes by friends forsaken; O
And when my hope was at the top, I still was worst mistaken, O.
Then sore harass'd, and tir'd at last, with fortune's vain delusion; O
I dropt my schemes, like idle dreams, and came to this conclusion; O
The past was bad, and the future hid; its good or ill untrièd; O
But the present hour was in my pow'r, and so I would enjoy it, O.
No help, nor hope, nor view had I; nor person to be friend me; O
So I must toil, and sweat and broil, and labor to sustain me, O
To plough and sow, to reap and mow, my father bred me early; O
one, he said, to labor bred, was a match for fortune fairly, O.
Thus all obscure, unknown, and poor, thro' life I'm doom'd to wander, O
Till down my weary bones I lay in everlasting slumber; O
No view nor care, but shun whate'er might breed me pain or sorrow; O
I live to-day as well's I may, regardless of to-mor row, O.