Page:The Poems of John Dyer (1903).djvu/86

 Strain all thy nerves, and every thought explore. Far, far away whose passions would immure, In your own little hearts, the joys of life ; (Ye worms of pride !) for your repast alone Who claim all Nature's stores, woods, waters, meads, All her profusion ; whose vile hands would grasp The peasant's scantling, the weak widow's mite, And in the sepulchre of Self entomb Whate'er ye can, whate'er ye cannot, use. Know, for superior ends th' Almighty Pow'r (The Pow'r whose tender arms embrace the worm) Breathes o'er the foodful earth the breath of life, And forms us manifold ; allots to each His hair peculiar, wisdom, wit, and strength ; Wisdom, and wit, and strength, in sweet accord, To aid, to cheer, to counsel, to protect, And twist the mighty bond. Thus feeble man, With man united, is a nation strong ; Builds tow'ry cities, satiates every want, And makes the seas profound, and forests wild; The gardens of his joys. Man, each man, 's born For the high bus'ness of the public good. For me, 'tis mine to pray that men regard Their occupations with an honest heart And cheerful diligence : like the useful bee, To gather for the hive not sweets alone, But wax, and each material ; pleas'd to find Whate'er may sooth distress, and raise the fall'n, In life's rough race. O be it as my wish ! 'Tis mine to teach th' inactive hand to reap Kind Nature's bounties, o'er the globe diffus'd. For this I wake the weary hours of rest ; With this desire the merchant I attend ; By this impell'd the shepherd's hut I seek, ) And, as he tends his flock, his lectures hear