 | Miscellany Poems |  |
On the Earth, our Common Mother.
Thou Universal Mother of Us all,
From whom the Creatures have Original;
From Monarch Man, with awfull Empire crown'd,
To the base Reptile creeping on the ground.
There's nothing, that hath Life, but owes its Birth
To Father Sun and teeming Mother Earth.
With genial Warmth He doth Her bosom heat,
She with wide Arms doth his Embraces meet:
Conceives, grows big, and from Her fruitfull Womb,
The Lovely Births in Beauteous Order come.
Nor Life alone Her Liberal Hand doth give,
Her Bosom bears the Food, on which they Live.
With needfull Herbage She doth cloath the Field,
That Nourishment to Man and Beast doth yeild.
Each Species of Her Creatures finds Her Good,
Appropriating to each kind Her Food.
And, that the Generations might not end,
With seminal Vertue She doth them befriend.
Each Creature gets his Like, and not one Plant
A way to Propagate his Kind doth want.
Unlike the Tree, from whence it fell, the Seed
By wondrous Vertue doth the Species breed.
And, what no form o'th' Parent doth retain,
By Plastick Power doth get its Like again.
From whom the Creatures have Original;
77
To the base Reptile creeping on the ground.
There's nothing, that hath Life, but owes its Birth
To Father Sun and teeming Mother Earth.
With genial Warmth He doth Her bosom heat,
She with wide Arms doth his Embraces meet:
Conceives, grows big, and from Her fruitfull Womb,
The Lovely Births in Beauteous Order come.
Nor Life alone Her Liberal Hand doth give,
Her Bosom bears the Food, on which they Live.
With needfull Herbage She doth cloath the Field,
That Nourishment to Man and Beast doth yeild.
Each Species of Her Creatures finds Her Good,
Appropriating to each kind Her Food.
And, that the Generations might not end,
With seminal Vertue She doth them befriend.
Each Creature gets his Like, and not one Plant
A way to Propagate his Kind doth want.
Unlike the Tree, from whence it fell, the Seed
By wondrous Vertue doth the Species breed.
And, what no form o'th' Parent doth retain,
By Plastick Power doth get its Like again.
Nor is She Mother and kind Nurse alone;
Her Arms receive Us, when our Race is run:
And when our wearied Days we bring to end,
We find Her Bosom an Eternal Friend.
There in our Resting-place we all lie down,
All sence of Grief and former Sorrow flown,
“Life is to Trouble ty'd, the Grave to none.
The former Ages, that long since slid by,
At Quiet in Her Clasping Arms do ly.
The King and Peasant do together rest:
No Pride fills One, nor Envy th' Other's breast.
The present Ages the same Fate shall have,
Tend to their Common Resting-place the Grave.
And Ages not yet sprung from Fate's Decree,
When they've run out the Line of Destiny,
(An equal Fate Death upon all things brings)
Shall all be lost i'th' Mass and crowd of Things.
So doth the River borrow from the Main
Those Streams, that rest not, till they'r there again.
From its first Rise thrô devious ways it goes,
With swift unwearied Course to th' Sea it flows,
And in its Mother's Lap seeks long Repose.
Her Arms receive Us, when our Race is run:
And when our wearied Days we bring to end,
We find Her Bosom an Eternal Friend.
There in our Resting-place we all lie down,
All sence of Grief and former Sorrow flown,
“Life is to Trouble ty'd, the Grave to none.
The former Ages, that long since slid by,
At Quiet in Her Clasping Arms do ly.
The King and Peasant do together rest:
No Pride fills One, nor Envy th' Other's breast.
The present Ages the same Fate shall have,
Tend to their Common Resting-place the Grave.
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When they've run out the Line of Destiny,
(An equal Fate Death upon all things brings)
Shall all be lost i'th' Mass and crowd of Things.
So doth the River borrow from the Main
Those Streams, that rest not, till they'r there again.
From its first Rise thrô devious ways it goes,
With swift unwearied Course to th' Sea it flows,
And in its Mother's Lap seeks long Repose.
| Miscellany Poems | |