Rthly Rest, Divine Communion Chases, As The Day Drives To Their Dens The Obedient Beasts Of Prey. See Judah'S Promised King, Bereft Of All, Driven Out An Exile From The Face Of Saul, To Distant Caves The Lonely Wanderer Flies, To Seek That Peace A Tyrant'S Frown Denies. Hear The Sweet Accents Of His Tuneful Voice, Hear Him O'Erwhelm'D With Sorrow, Yet Rejoice; No Womanish Or Wailing Grief Has Part, No, Not A Moment, In His Royal Heart; 'Tis Manly Music, Such As Martyrs Make, Suffering With Gladness For A Saviour'S Sake. His Soul Exults, Hope Animates His Lays, The Sense Of Mercy Kindles Into Praise, And Wilds, Familiar With A Lion'S Roar, Ring With Ecstatic Sounds Unheard Before; 'Tis Love Like His That Can Alone Defeat The Foes Of Man, Or Make A Desert Sweet. Religion Does Not Censure Or Exclude Unnumber'D Pleasures Harmlessly Pursued; To Study Culture, And With Artful Toil To Meliorate And Tame The Stubborn Soil; To Give Dissimilar Yet Fruitful Lands The Grain, Or Herb, Or Plant That Each Demands; To Cherish Virtue In An Humble State, And Share The Joys Your Bounty May Create; To Mark The Matchless Workings Of The Power That Shuts Within Its Seed The Future Flower, Bids These In Elegance Of Form Excel, In Colour These, And Those Delight The Smell, Sends Nature Forth The Daughter Of The Skies, To Dance On Earth, And Charm All Human Eyes; To Teach The Canvas Innocent Deceit, Or Lay The Landscape On The Snowy Sheet' These, These Are Arts Pursued Without A Crime, That Leave No Stain Upon The Wing Of Time. Me Poetry (Or, Rather, Notes That Aim Feebly And Vainly At Poetic Fame) Employs, Shut Out From More Important Views, Fast By The Banks Of The Slow-Winding Ouse; Content If, Thus Sequester'D, I May Raise A Monitor'S, Though Not A Poet'S, Praise, And, While I Teach An Art Too Little Known, To Close Life Wisely, May Not Waste My Own.