Maxioms by James Thomson (1)
Cruel as death, and hungry at the grave.
Cruel as death, and hungry at the grave.
Think, oh, grateful think!
How good the God of Harvest is to you;
Who pours abundance o'er read more
Think, oh, grateful think!
How good the God of Harvest is to you;
Who pours abundance o'er your flowing fields,
While those unhappy partners of you kind
Wide-hover round you, like the fowls of heaven,
And ask their humble dole.
Linnets . . . sit
On the dead tree, a dull despondent flock.
Linnets . . . sit
On the dead tree, a dull despondent flock.
He saw her charming, but he saw not half
The charms her downcast modesty conceal'd.
He saw her charming, but he saw not half
The charms her downcast modesty conceal'd.
Among the changing months, May stands confest
The sweetest, and in fairest colors dressed.
Among the changing months, May stands confest
The sweetest, and in fairest colors dressed.
