THE COUNTRY VICAR. THAT Fortune gives enough to none, Is, by experience, proved to be An undisputed verity. What pity that this maxim sage, To grant the thing a truth to be; And hence, alas! no doubt, arise The heaviest of our miseries. Not satisfied with present store, We sigh, and wish, and hope for more; With blessings such as Heaven hath sent; This feeling is a certain store,— To know, that Providence divine, Does nought but for a wise design: Those who might well a higher grace; Which from our view conceals the laws Enacted by the GREAT FIRST Cause, To govern in this world below; It is enough for us to know, (Nor let us e'er the maxim slight,) This truth," Whatever is, is right." My reader, whether low or great, Strive to improve thy present state; In all things ever do thy best, And fearless leave to Heav'n the rest: Then mayst thou be supremely blest! A CURATE of a country vill, Whom Fortune treated somewhat ill, In letting him remain so long Amid the undistinguished throng,Beholds at last his wishes granted, And gets the living that he wanted ;A village where, remote from strife And discontent, some years of life He'd happily passed; and now with pleasure Could call his own-this wished-for treasure. With joy elate, he mounts the back Of Loiterfoot, his sober hack ; And goes along with gentle pace, The day was beautiful and warm, And with sweet warbling filled the sky; That doth their harmless race await; Is heard sweet Zephyr's whispering breeze; And, ever and anon, the doye Utters its soothing notes of love! Our Vicar's features well display His pleasure at a scene so gay; And often to the vaulted skies He grateful lifts his tearful eyes. Until, emerging from the wood, Was more unaptly used than here, Where nought but smiling scenes appear! |