 | The British Months |  |
Delight of contemplating the year's fruitfulness. The liberal rich man. The poor man. His offering of gratitude well pleasing. Proportionate returns due from all for God's bounty
O, 'tis a sight the soul to cheer,
The promise of the fruitful year,
When God abroad his bounty flings,
And answering nature laughs and sings!
He “for the evil and the good,”
For them, who with heart's gratitude,
And them, who thanklessly receive
The blessings he vouchsafes to give,
Bids from his storehouse in the skies
“His rain descend, his sun arise !”
The promise of the fruitful year,
When God abroad his bounty flings,
And answering nature laughs and sings!
He “for the evil and the good,”
For them, who with heart's gratitude,
And them, who thanklessly receive
The blessings he vouchsafes to give,
Bids from his storehouse in the skies
“His rain descend, his sun arise !”
283
I love to see kind heav'n bestow
Abundance on mankind below:
Then chief, when 'tis bestow'd on one,
Who lives not for himself alone,
But, like the rich and fruitful ground,
What he receives, disperses round,
In part to bless the sons of men;
And grateful gives a part again,
Like incense-breathing fields, to rise
In tribute to the bounteous skies.
Abundance on mankind below:
Then chief, when 'tis bestow'd on one,
Who lives not for himself alone,
But, like the rich and fruitful ground,
What he receives, disperses round,
In part to bless the sons of men;
And grateful gives a part again,
Like incense-breathing fields, to rise
In tribute to the bounteous skies.
Nor less I love to see the store
Augmented of the lowly poor;
By honest toil industrious wrought,
By frugal care, and prudent thought,
With peacefulness and heart's content,
Which of the Fount of good, that sent
Life and its blessings, mindful, pays
To Him the meed of thankful praise.
And though to Him, who gives us all,
The turf-built altar be but small,
The offering there of little price;
And from that humble sacrifice,
So the world deems, a trivial flame
Ascending, though with heav'nward aim,
With but a feeble light arise,
And seek acceptance from the skies:—
I know not but as rich a scent
That turf-built altar may present,
Expressive of the heart's desire,
That offering poor, and feeble fire,
As grateful to the smell divine;
As, flaming on the golden shrine,
Ten thousand hecatombs, and more,
In homage from the imperial store.
Augmented of the lowly poor;
By honest toil industrious wrought,
By frugal care, and prudent thought,
With peacefulness and heart's content,
Which of the Fount of good, that sent
Life and its blessings, mindful, pays
To Him the meed of thankful praise.
And though to Him, who gives us all,
The turf-built altar be but small,
The offering there of little price;
And from that humble sacrifice,
So the world deems, a trivial flame
Ascending, though with heav'nward aim,
With but a feeble light arise,
And seek acceptance from the skies:—
I know not but as rich a scent
That turf-built altar may present,
Expressive of the heart's desire,
That offering poor, and feeble fire,
As grateful to the smell divine;
As, flaming on the golden shrine,
284
In homage from the imperial store.
To all, what best his wisdom knows,
The bounty of our God bestows.
From all, to whom a boon he gives,
But most from him, who most receives,
In acts below of peace and love,
In acts of praise to Him above,
He claims, of what he gives, a part:
From all at least a thankful heart,
Which, soaring on devotion's wing,
Up to the throne of nature's King
Itself in holy vision lifts,
And owns the Giver in his gifts.
The bounty of our God bestows.
From all, to whom a boon he gives,
But most from him, who most receives,
In acts below of peace and love,
In acts of praise to Him above,
He claims, of what he gives, a part:
From all at least a thankful heart,
Which, soaring on devotion's wing,
Up to the throne of nature's King
Itself in holy vision lifts,
And owns the Giver in his gifts.
| The British Months | |