'Tis  well !  thy  lot  is  fair,  enclosed  in  bliss,
And  seems  secure  from  poverty's  abyss  ;
But  came  such  good  for  such  a  futile  end,
Or  came  such  wealth  for  Vanity  to  spend  ?
A  clod  of  earth  with  flowers  adorn'd  may  gain
A  gazing  world's  applause  as  weak  as  vain,
But  that  no  longer  than  the  flowers  last ;
Should  they  be  scattered  by  Misfortune's  blast,
Thou'lt  look  in  vain  for  friends  thou  once  could'st
own,


32  Reflections  from  Nature.
Be  spumed  by  many  and  to  all  unknown  !
Do  Heaven's  blessings  then  lead  thee  to  scorn
A  fellow  mortal  'cause  he's  lowly  bom  ?
One  who  ne'er  tasted  pleasures  such  as  thine,
And  who  ne'er  baak'd  within  thy  warm  sunshine;
Is  he  beneath  thy  notice  'cause  he's  forced
To  labour  till  Lite's  stormy  ocean's  crossM  :
Say,  is  it  thus?  do  blessings  such  as  these
Instead  of  warming  tend  those  streams  to  freeze
Which  thro'  the  rale  of  Poverty  should  flow,
And  on  unfertile  land-  make  Comfort  grow?
'Twere  well  at  once  to  stop  their  worthless  force.
And  turn  their  current  in  another  course  ;
As  well  to  lay  thy  talents  on  the  shelf,
As  to  monopolize  their  fruit  thyself!
And  better  too,  for  when  thy  lord  demands
The  interest  of  all  placed  in  thy  hands,
With  what  composure  wilt  thou  meet  his  eu.
