RIDLEYS OF WILLIMOTESWICK, NORTHUMBERLAND.
433
Wast thou a lump of clay or blast of air?
Where, in the world's wide circuit did'st thou dwell?
On earth, in heaven, or in the depth of hell?
What part of vast INANE did'st thou fill?
No, then in Fate's firm fetters I was kept,
In the dark womb of non-existance slept.
In my creation thy first love began,
It gave me being, willed me into man.
In thee I think, I speak, I move, I live;
Myself from thee each moment I receive.
But here's the life of goodness, here we prove
The full protection of all-perfect love;
That he who in the world of glory shone,
The bright Paretius of the Eternal sun,
Was pleased to leave his dignity on high,
For us to live in man, for us to die.
See on the cross his bleeding body hung!
His flesh with pain, his mind with sorrow stung!
The sad, yet joyful minutes now begin,
Of Jesus' death, and of the death of sin.
In every groan he utters we revive;
He faints, we quicken; he expires, we live.
By love like this my soul is quite o'ercome;
And gratitude and wonder strike me dumb;
A theme like this requires a seraph's lays;
Give me new powers, great God, and then I'll sing thy praise."
INVITATION TO THE COUNTRY.
"Now, waiting on the Spring, soft gales
Smothe the rough waves and fill the sails.
The flelds are green; the river flows,
Disburdened of its ice and snows.
"Now does the nightingale return,
In sadly pleasing notes to mourn
The unhappy boy too rashly slain!
And wakens all her grief again.
"The shepherds stretch the grass along,
Indulge the cheerful pipe and song;
Pan, patron of Arcadian swains,
Well-pleased, might listen to their strains.
"Heat brings on drought; yet, friend, scot-free
Think not to quench your thirst with me.
You are so used with Lords to dine!
-I can't afford it: earn your wine.
"Clap in your pocket prose or verse,
And freely then my hogshead pierce;
Drink till new warmpth inspire our hopes
To laugh at Grand Monarchs and Popes.
"On termes like these if you consent,
Haste here and bring the equivalent:
I am no Lord; nor think it fit
To sell my wines for less than wit.
"Come, let the press stand still to-day;
True wisdom must have some allay.
To make it stirling; tune and place
Give Folly's self a pleasing grace."
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