by Elizabeth Bentley
HOW happy in his reed-roof'd cot,
The rural peasant's humble lot,
Who with the soaring lark foregoes,
At early dawn his sweet repose:
Round his abode the cultur'd soil
Speaks his unremitted toil;
The spicy garden's varied blooms
Scent the breeze with rich perfumes;
The corn-field clad in waving gold,
The lowing kine, the bleating fold:
His hut two sister nymphs frequent,
Ruddy Health and meek Content,
Led by Industry their friend,
On Temp'rance steps these nymphs attend.
Thus unmolested glide his days,
His little wealth he pleas'd surveys;
Of Nature's simplest gifts possest,
Envy ne'er haunts his peaceful breast,
Not wishing Fortune's ampler stores,
With grateful heart he God adores.
The faithful partner of his cares,
At eve the frugal meal prepares;
His children's artless bosoms burn
To greet with smiles his wish'd return.
To tranquil rest he sinks serene,
Till morn renews the pleasing scene.
Last updated January 14, 2019