The HUSBANDMAN'S Meditation in the FIELD

With tollsome steps when I pursue, O'er breaking clods, the plougshare's way, Lord, teach my mental eye to view My native dissoluble clay.

And when with seed I strew the earth, To thee all praises let me give; Whose hand prepar'd me for the birth, Whose breath inform'd, and bade me live.

Pleas'd, I behold the stately stem Support its bearded honour's load: Thus, Lord, sustain'd by thee, I came To manhood, thro' youth's dangerous road,

Purging from noxious herbs the grain, Oh! may I learn to purge my mind From sin, rank weed of deepest stain, Nor leave one baneful root behind.

When blast destroys the opening ear, Life, thus replete with various woe, Warns me to shun with studious care Pride, my most deadly, latent foe.

When harvest comes, the yellow crop Prone to the reaper's sickle yields; And I beneath Death's scythe must drop, And soon or late forsake these fields.

When future crops in silent hoards, Sleep for a while, to service dead; Thy emblem this, O Grave! affords The path of life, which all must tread.