Maxioms by James Thomson (1)
Linnets . . . sit
On the dead tree, a dull despondent flock.
Linnets . . . sit
On the dead tree, a dull despondent flock.
For nothing human foreign was to him.
For nothing human foreign was to him.
He ceased; but still their trembling ears retained
The deep vibrations of his witching song.
He ceased; but still their trembling ears retained
The deep vibrations of his witching song.
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.
Hail! Independence, hail! Heaven's next best gift,
To that of life and an immortal soul!
Hail! Independence, hail! Heaven's next best gift,
To that of life and an immortal soul!
