HERE she her sacred bower adorns, The Rivers clearly flow;

The groves and meadows swell with flowers

The winds all gently blow.

Her Sun-like beauty shines so fair,

Her Spring can never fade:

Who then can blame the life that strives

To harbour in her shade?

Her grace I sought, her love I wooed, Her love though I obtain;

No time, no toil, no vow, no faith,

Her wished grace can gain.

"Where she her sacred bower adorns”

Yet truth can tell my heart is hers,
And her will I adore;

And from that love when I depart,
Let heav'n view me no more!

Her roses with my praise shall spring;
And when her trees I praise,

Their boughs shall blossom, mellow fruit
Shall strew her pleasant ways.
The words of hearty zeal have power
High wonders to effect;

O why should then her princely ear
My words, or zeal, neglect?

If she my faith misdeems, or worth,
Woe worth my hapless fate!

For though time can my truth reveal,
That time will come too late.

And who can glory in the worth,
That cannot yield him grace?
Content, in ev'rything is not,

Nor joy in ev'ry place.

"Welbere she her sacred boiner aborns "

But from her bower of Joy since I
Must now excluded be,

And she will not relieve my cares, .
Which none can help but she;
My comfort in her love shall dwell,
Her love lodge in my breast,
And though not in her bower, yet I
Shall in her temple rest.

HE man of life upright,
Whose guiltless heart is free

From all dishonest deeds,
Or thought of vanity;

The man whose silent days,
In harmless joys are spent,
Whom hopes cannot delude
Nor sorrow discontent;

That man needs neither towers Nor armour for defence,

Nor secret vaults to flie

From thunder's violence;

The man of life upright"

He only can behold
With unaffrighted eyes
The horrors of the deep
The terrors of the skies.

Thus, scorning all the cares
That fate or fortune brings,
He makes the heav'n his book,
His wisdom heav'nly things;

Good thoughts his only friends,
His wealth a well-spent age,
The earth his sober Inn

And quiet Pilgrimage.