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I must not taste, nay, dare not see ; | Yet I can do a father's part,
Why place it there? or why forbid | And school the temper, mind, and heart;
That I so much as lift the lid ?

| The natural bent of each I'll know, Pruhibited of this to eat,

And trifies best that bent may show,' I care not for the sumptuous treat ;

'Twas just before the closing year, I wonder if 'tis fowl or fish,

When Christmas holidays were near, To know what's there I merely wish, The farmer call’d to see his boys, lllook-O no, I luse forever,

And ask how each his time eniploys. If I'm betray'd, my husband's favour, Quoth Will, There's father, boys, without, Town I think it vitly hard,

Hic's brought us something good, no doubt,' Nay, tyranny, to be debarr'd.

The father sees their merry faces, Jahn, you may go-the wine's decanted, With joy beholds them, and embraces. 111 ring or call you when you're wanted. | Come, boys, of home you'll have your fill.' Now leit alone, she waits no longer;

Yes, Christmas now is near,' says Will ; Temptation presses more and stronger. 'Tis just twelve days these noiches see, lil peep-the harm can ne'er be much, My notches with the days agree.' For though I peep, I will not touch; Well,' said the sire, .again I'll come, Why I'm forbid to lift this cover,

And gladly tetch my brave boys home! One glance will tell, and then 'tis over. You two the dappleil mare shall ride. Mvhusirand's absent; so is John,

Jack mount the pony by my side; Mi peeping never can be known,'

Meantime, my lads, I've brought you here Tienbling, she yielded to her wish, No small provision of good cheer.' And rais'd the cover from the dish : Then from his pocket strait he takes, She starts- for lo! an open pye

| A vast profusion of plum-cakes;
From which six living sparrows fly. He counts them out, a plenteous store,
She calls, she screams, with wild surprise, No boy shall have or less or more;
*Haste, John, and catch these birds,' she Twelve cakes he gives to each dear son,

When each expected only one ;
Ich hears not; but to crown her shame, And then, with many a kind expression,
In at her call her husband came.

He leaves them to their own discretion;
Sternly he frown'd as thus he spoke : Resolv'd to mark the use each made
“Thus is your vow'd allegiance broke! Of what he to their hands convey'd.
Se fixn'rance led you to believe

The twelve days past, he comes once more, . Vou did not share the sin of Eve.

And brings the horses to the door;
Like hers, how biest was your condition ! The boys with rapture sce appear
Likeheav'ns, how small my prohibition ! The poney and the dappled mare;
Yet you, though fed with every dainty, Each moment now an hour they count,
Sat pining in the midst of plenty ;

And crack their whips and long to mount, This dish, thus singled from the rest,

As with the boys his ride he takes, Or your obedience was the test;.

He asks the history of the cakes, Your mind, unbroke by self-denial,

Sitys Will, Dear father, life is short, Could not sustain this slender trial.

So I resolv'd to make quick sport; Humility from this be taught,

The cakes were all so nice and sweet,
Learn candour to another's fault;

I thought I'd have one jolly treat;
Go know, like Eve, from this sad dinner, Why should I balk, said I, my taste?
You're both a vain and curious sinner.' I'll make at once a hearty feast,

So snugly by myself I fed,
When every boy was gone to bed;

I gorg'd them all, both paste and plum,

And did not spare a single crumb;

Indeed they made me, to my sorrow,
Or, the Farmer and his Three Sons,

As sick as death upon the morrow;
A FARMER, who some wealth possest, This made mie mourn my rich repast,
With three fine boys was also blest;

And wish I had not fed so fast.'
The lads were healthy, stout, and young, Quoth Jack, ‘I was not such a dunce,
And neither wanted sense nor tongue. To eat my quantum up at once;
Tom, Will, and Jack, like other boys, And though the boys all long'd to clutch 'em,
Lor'd tops and marbles, sport and toys, I would not let a creature touch 'em ;
The father scouted that false plan,

Nor though the whole were in my pow'r, That money only makes the man ;

Would I one single cake devour; Bat, to the best of his discerning,

Thanks to the use of keys and locks, Was bent on giving them good learning; They're all now snug within my box; He was a man of observation,

| The mischief is, by hoarding long, Noscholar, yet had penetration ;

They're grown so mouldy and so strong, So with due care, a school he sought, I find they won't be fit to eat, Where his young sons might well be taught. And I have lost my father's treat.' Quoth he, I know not which rehearses 1 Well, Tom,' the anxious parent cries, Most properly his themes or verses; 1.How did you manage ? Tom replies,

VOL. 1.

I shun'd cach wide extreme to také, So hard my work, so poor in: fare,
To glut my maw, or hoard my cake; 'Tis more than mortal man can bear.
I thought each day its wants would have, How glorious is the rich man's state !
And appetite again might crave;

His house so fine! his wealth so great!
Twelve school-days still my notches counted Heav'n is unjust, you must agree;
To twelve my father's cakes amounted; Why all to him ? why none to me?
So ev'ry day I took out one,

• In spite of what the Scripture teaches, But never ate my cake alone;

In spite of all the parson preaches, With ev'ry necdy boy I shar'd,

This world (indeed I've thought so long) And more than half I always spar'd.

Is rul’d, methinks, extremely wrong. One ev'ry day, 'twixt self and friend, •Where'er I look, howe'er I range, Has brought my dozen to an end : '

'Tis all confus'd, and hard, and strange; My last remaining cake to-day

The good are troubled and oppressid I would not touch, but gave away;

And all the wicked are the bless'd.' A boy was sick, and scarce could eat, Quoth John : "Our ign’rance is the cause 'To him it prov'd a welcome trent :

Why thus we blame our Maker's laws; Jack call’d me spendthrift not to save; | Parts of his ways alone we know, Will dubb'd me fool because I gave ; 'Tis all that man can see below, But when our last day came, I smil'd, See'st thou that carpet, not half done, For Will's were gone, and Jack's were Which thou, dear Dick, hast well begun? spoil'd ;.

Behold the wild confusion there, Not hoarding much, nor eating fast,

So rude the mass it makes cne stare ! . I serv'd a needy friend at last.'

· A stranger, ign'rant of the trade, These tales the father's thoughts employ; Would say, no meaning's there couvey'd ; * By these,' said he, 'I know each boy : For where's the middle, where's the border? Yet Jack, who hoarded what he had, Thy carpet now is all disorder.' The world will call a frugal lad;

Quoth Dick, My work is yet in bits, And selfish, gormandizing Will

But still in ev'ry part it fits; Will meet with friends and fav'rers still : Besides, you reason like a lout, While moderate Tom, so wise and cool,

Why, man, that carpet's inside out.' The mad and vain will deem a fool : Says John, Thou say'st the thing I mean, But I, his sober plan approve,

And now I hope to cure thy splecn;
And Tom has gain'd his father's love.' This world, which clouds thy soul with doubt,

Is but a carpet inside out.

• As when we view these shreds and ends, So when our day of life is past,

We know not what the whole intends; And all are fairly judg'd at last;

So when on earth things look but odid, · The miser and the sensual find

They're working still some scheme of God. How each misused the gifts assign'd:

No plan, no pattern, can we trace, While he, who wisely spends and gives,

All wants proportion, truth, and grace; To the true ends of living lives;

The motley mixture we deride, 'Tis self-denying moderation

Nor see the beautcous upper side. Gains the Great Father's approbation.

• But when we reach that world of light,
And view those works of God aright,
Then shall we see the whole design,

And own the workman is divine.
TURN THE CARPET : • What now seems random strokes, will


All order and design appear; . IN A DIALOGUE BETWEEN DICK AND JOHN. | Then shall we praise what here we spurn'd, As at their work two weavers sat,

For then the carpet shall be turn'd. Beguiling time with friendly chat;

•Thou’rt right,' quoth Dick, no more I'll They touch'd upon the price of mcat,

grumble So high, a weaver scarce could eat.

That this sad world's so strange a jumble; •What with my brats and sickly wife,'

My impicu doubis are put to flight, Quoth Dick, I'm almost tir'd of life; For my carpet sets me right;'

THE TRUE HEROES : | Warriors of the world, avaunt !

| Other heroes me engage :
Or, the Noble Army of Martyrs.

'Tis not such as you I want, You who love a tale of glory,

Saints and martyrs grace my page. Listen to the song I sing;

Warriors, who the world o'ercame Heroes of the Christian story,

Were in brother's blood imbru'd; Are the heroes I shall bring.

While the saints of purer fame,

Greater far, themselves subdu'd. Fearful Christian ! hear with wonder,

Of the saints of whom I tell;
Some were burnt, some sawn asunder,

Some by fire or torture fell;
Some to savage beasts were hurl'd,

One escap'd the lion's den;
Was a persecuting world

Worthy of these wond'rous men ? Some in fiery furnace thrown,

Yet escap'd, unsing'd their hair; There Almighty pow'r was shuwn;

For the Son of God was there. Let us crown with deathless fame

Those who scorn'd and hated fell; Martyrs met contempt and shame,

Fearing nought but sin and hell.
How the show'r of stones descended,

Holy Stephen, on thy head!
While his tongue the truth defended,

How the glorious martyr bled !
See his fierce reviler Saul,

How he rails zith impious breath! Then observe converted Paul,

Oft in perils, oft in death. 'Twas that God, whose sov'reign pow'r,

Did the lion's fury 'swage,
Could alone, in one short hour,

Still the persecutor's rage.
E'en a woman-women hear,

Read in Maccabees the story!
Conquer'd nature, love, and fear,

To obtain a crown of glory. Seven stout sons she saw expire,

(How the mother's soul was pain'd!) Some by sword, and some by fire,

(How the martyr was sustain'd!) i E'en in death's acutest anguish,

Each the tyrant still defy'd; Each she saw in torture languish,

Last of all the mother dy'd. Martyrs who were thus arrested,

In their short but bright career; By their blood the truth attested, _Prov'd their faith and love sincere, Though their lot was hard and lowly, 'Though they perish'd at the stake, Now thev live with Christ in glory,

Since they suffer'd for his sake, Fierce and unbelieving foes

But their bodies could destroy; Short though bitter were their woes Everlasting is their joy.

| Comes to his own favour'd nation,

But his own receive him not, If the angels who attended

To declare the Saviour's birth, i Who from heav'n with songs descended

To proclaim good will on earth : If, in pity to our blindness,

They had brought the pardon needed, Still Jehovah's wondrous kindness

Had our warmest lopes exceeded : If some prophet had been sent

With Salvation's joyful news, Who that heard the blest event

Could their warmest love refuse?!
But 'twas He to whom in Heav'n

Hallelujahs never cease :
He, the mighty God, was given,

Given to us a Prince of Peace,
None but He who did create us

Could redeem from sin and hell; None but He could reinstate us

In the rank from which he fell. Had he come, the glorious stranger,

Deck'd with all the world calls grcat; Had he liv'd in pomp and grandeur,

Crown'd with more than royal state; Still our tongues with praise o'erflowing,

On such boundless love would dwell; Still our hearts, with rapture glowing,

Feel what words could never tell. But what wonder should it raise

Thus our lowest state to borrow ! O the high mysterious ways,

God's own Son a child of sorrow ! 'Twas to bring us endless pleasure,

He our suff'ring nature bore; 'Twas to give us heav'nly treasure,

He was willing to bé poor. Come, ye rich, survey the stable

Where your infant Saviour lies; From your full o'erflowing table

Send the hungry good supplies. Boast not your ennobi'd stations,

Boast not that you're highly fed ; Jesus, hear it, all ye nations,

Had not where to lay his head." Learn of me, thus cries the Saviour,

If my kingdom you'd inherit; Sinner, quit your proud behaviour,

Learn my meek and lowly spirit. Come, ye servants, see your station,

Freed from all reproach and shame; He who purchas'd your salvation,

Bore a servant's humble name. Come, ye poor, some comfort gather,

Faint not in the race you run,
Hard the lot your gracious Father

Gave his dear, his only Son.
Think, that if your humbler stations,
| Less of worldly good bestow,
You escape those strong temptations

Which from wealth and grandeur flow. See your Saviour is ascended!

See he looks with pity down! | Trust him all will soon be mended,

Bear his cross, you'll share his crown.


Ohow wond'rous is the story

Of our blest Redeemer's birth! See the mighty Lord of Glory

Leave his heav'n to visit earth! Hear with transport, ev'ry creature,

Hear the Gospel's joyful sound; Christ appears in human nature,

In our sinful world is found; Comes to pardon our transgression,

Like a cloud our sins to blot;

A HYMN OF PRAISE. . To give the bread of heav'n.

In that blest pray’r our Lord did frame, FOR THE ABUNDANT HARVEST OF 1796, 1 Of all our pray’rs the guide, ,

| We ask that • Hallow'd be his name,' After a year of scarcity.

And then our wants supplied.
GREAT GOD! when famine threaten'd late For grace he bids us first implore,
To scourge our guilty land,

Next, that we may be fed ;
O did we learn from that dark fate We say, “Thy will be done,' before
To dread thy mighty hand ?

We ask our daily bread,
Did then our sins to ier’ry rise ?

Or own'd we God was just ? Or rais'd we penitential cries? Or bow'd we in the dust?

Did we forsake one evil path ?

Was any sin abhor'd?
Or did we deprecate tlıy wrath,

Being Suitable Thoughts for a New Year. And turn us to the Lord ? 'Tis true we fail'd not to repine,

Here bliss is short, imperfect, insincere, But did we too repent?

But total, absolute, and perfect there. Or own the chastisement divine

Here time's a moment, short our happiest In awful judgment sent ?

state, Though the bright chain of Peace he broke,

There infinite duration is our date. And War with ruthless sword,

Here Satan tempts, and troubles e'en the Unpeoples nations at a stroke,

best, Yet who regards the Lord ?

There Satan's pow'r extends not to the But God, who in his strict decrees,

blest. Remembers mercy still,

In a weak sinful body here I dwell, Can, in a moment, if he please,

But there I drop this frail and sickly shiell. Our hearts with comfort fill,

Here my best thoughts are stain’d with guilt He mark'd our angry spirits rise,

and fear, Domestic hate increasc;

But love and pardon shall be perfect there, And for a time withheld supplies,

| Here my best duties are defil'd with sin, To teach us love and peace.

| There all is ease without and peace within. He, when he brings his children low,

| Here feeble faith supplies my only light, Has blessings still in store;

There faith and hope are swallow'd up in And when he strikes the heaviest blow,

sight, He loves us but the more.

Here love of self my fairest works destroys, Now Frost, and Flood, and Blight* no

There love of God shall perfect all my joys. more,

Here things, as in a glass, are darkly shown, Our golden harvest spoil !

There I shall know as clearly as I'm known, See what an unexampled store

Frail are the fairest flow'rs which bloom beRewards the reaper's toil !

low, As when the promis'd harvest fail'd

There freshest palms on roots immortal In Canaan's fruitful land ;

grow. The envious Patriarchs were assail'd

Here wants or cares perplex my anxious By Famine's pressing hand !

mind, The angry brothers then forgot

But spirits there a calm fruition find. Each fierce and jarring feud;

Here disappointments my best schemes deUnited by their adverse lot,


(joy. They lov'd as brothers should.

There those that sow'd in tears shall reap in So here, from Heav'n's correcting hand,

Here vanity is stamp'd on all below, Though Famine fail'd to move ;

Perfection there on ev'ry good shall grow. Let Plenty now throughout the land,

Here my fond heart is fasten'd on some Rekindle peace and love.

friend, Like the rich fool, let us not say,

Whose kindness may, whose life must hare Soul ! thou hast goods in store!

an end; But shake the overplus away,

But there no failure can I ever prove, To feed the hungry poor.

God cannot disappoint, for God is love. Let rich and poor, on whom are now

Here Christ for sinners suffer'd, groan'd, Such bounteous crops bestow'd,

and bled,

[hcad : Raise many a pure and holy vow

But there he reigns the great triumphant Of gratitude to God !

Here, mock'd and scourg'd, he wore a crown And while his gracious name we praise

of thorns, For bread so kindly given ;

A crown of glory there his brow adorns, Let us beseech him all our days,

Here error clouds the wiil, and dims the

|_ sight, . . These three visitations followed each other in quick | There all is knowledge, purity and light, succession

Here so imperfect is this mortal state,

If blest myself I mourn some other's fate. Here on no promis'd good can I depend, Ater'ry human wo I here repine,

But there the rock of Ages is my friend." The joy of ev'ry saint shall there be mine. Here if some sudden joy delight, inspire, Here if I lean, the world shall pierce my The dread to lose it damps the rising fire ; heart,

But there whatever good the soul employ, But there that broken reed and I shall part. The thought that 'tis eternal crowns the joy.


His neighbours cry'd, Now miller seize

The time to heap up store, Since thou of young and helpless babes

Hast got fuli halt a score. For folks, when tempted to grow rich,

By means not over nice,
Oft make their numerous babes a plea

To sanctify the vice.
Our miller scorn'd such counsel base,

And when he ground the grain,
With steadfast hand refus'd to touch

Beyond his lawful gain. 'When God afflicts the land,' said he,

"Shall I aflict it more? And watch for times of public wo

To wrong both rich and poor?
• Thankful to that Almighty Pow'r

Who makes my river ilow,
I'll use the means he gives to sooth

A hungry neighbour's wo.
• My river flows when others frecze,

But 'tis at his command;
For rich and poor I'll grind alike,

No bribe shall stain my hand.'
So all the country who had corn

Here found their wants redrest; May ev'ry village in the land

Be with such millers blest !


A True Ballad.
Or all the callings and the trades

Which in our land abound,
The miller's is as useful sure

As can on earth be found.
The lord or squire of high degree

is needful to the state,
Because he lets the land he owns

In farms both small and great.
The farmer he manures the land,

Or else what corn could grow?
The ploughman cuts the turrow deep,

Ere he begins to sow.
And though no wealth he has, except

The labour of his hands;
Yet honest Industry's as good

As houses or as lands.
The thrasher he is useful too

To all who like to eat;
Unless he winnow'd well the corn,

The chaff would spoil the wheat.
But vain the squire's and farmer's care,

And vain the thrasher's toil;
And rain would be the ploughman's pains

Who barrows up the soil;
And rain, without the miller's aid,

The sowing and the dressing;
Then sure an honest miller he

Must be a public blessing.
And such a miller now I make

The subject of my song,
Which, though it shall be very true,

Shall not be very long.
This miller lives in Glo'stershire,

I shall not tell his name;
For those who seek the praise of God,

Desire no other fame.
In last hard winter-who forgets

The frost of ninety-five?
Theo was all dismal scarce, and dear

And no poor man could thrive.
Then husbandry long time stood still

And work was at a stand;
To make the matter worse, the mills

Were froze throughout the land.
Our miller dwelt beside a stream,

All underneath the hill;
Which flow'd amain when others froze,

Nor ever stopp'd the mill.
The clam'rous people came from far

This favour'd mill to find,
Both rich and poor our miller sought,

For none bui he could grind.


Proper to be sung at all feasts and merry meetings
THERE was a heathen man, sir,

Belonging to a king;
And still it was his plan, sir,

To covet ev'ry thing.
And if you don't believe me,

I'll name him if you please,
For let me not deceive ye,

'Twas one squire Damocles, He thought that jolly living

Must ev'ry joy afford ;
His heart knew no misgiving,

While round the festive board.
He wanted to be great, sir,

And feed on fare delicious; And have his feasts in state, sir,

Just like king Dionysius.
The king, to cure his longing,

Prepar'd a fcast so fine,
That all the court were thronging

To see the courtier dine,

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