vi TO MY BROTHER'S CHILDREN. 



Young dwellers in Glamorgan's vale, 

 Who listen to my woodland tale, 

 For you, where'er your footsteps rove, 

 O'er moor or mountain, mead or grove, 

 May some sweet wild bird hovering near, 

 Your course with gentle music cheer ! 

 Nor listen ye with thankless heart, 

 But in their raptures bear a part ; 

 And when the skylark's early song 

 Is heard your pleasant fields among, 

 Out-pouring on the morning sky 

 His rapture-breathing melody, 

 Gaze on him, as afar he flies, 

 And let your thoughts to heaven arise ; 

 Reminded, by his joyous lays, 

 What fervent prayer, what ardent praise, 

 Are hourly due to Him, whose voice 

 Calls on all nature to rejoice. 

 Sustained by His almighty power, 

 And crown'cl with blessings ev'ry hour; 

 Unworthy of the least of these, 

 Like the good patriarch, on our knees, 

 Let us, with humbled hearts, confess 

 His love and our unworthiness. 

 Unnumber'd mercies from his hand, 

 Our daily, hourly praise demand. 



