Maxioms by James Thomson (1)
In ancient times, the sacred Plough employ'd
The Kings and awful Fathers of mankind:
And some, with read more
In ancient times, the sacred Plough employ'd
The Kings and awful Fathers of mankind:
And some, with whom compared your insect-tribes
Are but the beings of a summer's day,
Have held the Scale of Empire, ruled the Storm
Of mighty War; then, with victorious hand,
Disdaining little delicacies, seized
The Plough, and, greatly independent, scorned
All the vile stores corruption can bestow.
'Tis silence all,
And pleasing expectation.
'Tis silence all,
And pleasing expectation.
The Clouds consign their treasures to the fields;
And, softly shaking on the dimpled pool
Prelusive drops, read more
The Clouds consign their treasures to the fields;
And, softly shaking on the dimpled pool
Prelusive drops, let all their moisture flow
In large effusion, o'er the freshen'd world.
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!