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I sigh to wander unconfin'd, Where noise shall never come,Nor Envy's weak and narrow mind Disturb my humble home.
Yet think not, that by purling stream I'd muse my hours away,Or waste, as in some useless dream, Life's transitory day.
Oh! rather let my active soul My active hands employ;And teach my lips, where'er I stroll, To greet the poor with joy.
That so my thoughts may still ascend, And all-adoring rise,To Him who lives, my God and Friend— My Saviour in the skies!
TO THE SUN.
Thou lovely orb, whose golden beam,In floods of glory, shines supreme,—Once could I view, with raptur'd glance,The circling seasons round thee dance,Could own the joy that nature felt,And feel my soul in rapture melt.
