His Words, Like So Many

To-morrow To Fresh Woods, And Pastures New.

Here The Great Art Lies, To Discern In What The Law Is To Be To Restraint And Punishment, And In What Things Persuasion Only Is To Work.

Eye Me, Blest Providence, And Square My Trial To My Proportion'd Strength.

That Practis'd Falsehood Under Saintly Shew, Deep Malice To Conceal, Couch'd With Revenge.

Now The Bright Morning-star, Day's Harbinger, Comes Dancing From The East.