Inscription for an Hermitage

Fond man, retire to this lone cell, And bid the busy world farewell: Ah! quit the city's noisy scene For pleasures tranquil and serene; Seek in this calm, this sweet recess The rose-lip'd cherub, happiness, That haunts the hermit's mossy floor, And simple peasant's rural door. How pleasing is yon oak's brown shade? The spreading beech, th' adjacent glade; The crystal streams that smoothly glide; The warbling thrush at even-tide! Fond man, here sweetly may'st thou spend Thy fleeting days, nor fear thy end: Stealing thro' life, as thro' the plain Yon rill flows silent to the main. Here (when in russet vest the morn Walks o'er the mountain or the lawn) Thy early orisons begin, And live secure from woe and sin; Here too, at evening's sober hour, Adore the great almighty power, The sovereign ruler of the skies, For ever just, and good, and wise.