BAXTER'S POEMS. In peace by crowds they travel the same path, And being dead annoy none by their sm~ll. · 157 'fhe working bees in peace together live, Fetching their honey home from many flowers ; Dwelling in quiet order in one hive, But man destroys them and their store devours. God who by nature gives them flying wings, . And their rare mollifying power gave; Doth give them also their defensive stings, Their house, and young, and property to save. Men kill them, and eat up their gathered food, But make the like no king, no artist can; ·· Their work, yea their deadcorpse is sweet and good, But sweetest th~ngs corrupt and stink in man. How swiftly do th' unwearied swallows flee, And mount, and sport, even to unseen height; Their active, :fiery part is quick and free, Not clogg'd as men are by a fleshly weight. 'fhe mounted lark, hovering with nimble wings, Dwells above earth till strength and spirit fail ; And peering towards the sun, she sweetly sings, But falls down mute when earthly parts prevail. Some say, all motion tends to ceasing rest, Of earth's forc'd lifeless motion tliis is true; To spirits perfect action is the best, Incessant love and pleasure is their due. Experience sadly tells man, that his soul Is clogg'd by flesh, perverted by its bent, So that dark heathens did its case condole~ As for old sins into his body sent.
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