Young pensive moralist!—'tis sweet to muse

On beauties which escape the vulgar eye,

To talk with Nature 'mid her woodland paths,

And hear an answering voice in every breeze.—

You court her beauties with a lover's zeal;

You hear her voice, nor understand the sound

Which speaks to you—to all. The volume spread

Before your dazzled eyes, so rich with life,

Is a closed book—a fair illumined scroll,

Traced in strange characters, unknown to you.

Would you unfold the mystery, and read

The record the eternal hand of God

Has, of himself, on Nature's tablets graved?

You must explore another wondrous book,

Of deeper interest far—the book of life—

The glorious volume of unsullied truth!—

[Pg 12]

Time's rapid and undeviating march

Tramples down empires, blots out names that once

Bid fair for perpetuity of fame.

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