Retirement
Fresh fields and woods! the Earth's fair face,God's foot-stool, and man's dwelling-place.I ask not why the first BelieverDid love to be a country liver?Who to secure pious contentDid pitch by groves and wells his tent;Where he might view the boundless sky,And all those glorious lights on high;With flying meteors, mists and show'rs,Subjected hills, trees, meads and flow'rs;And ev'ry minute bless the KingAnd wise Creator of each thing.I ask not why he did removeTo happy Mamre's holy grove,Leaving the cities of the plainTo Lot and his successless train?All various lusts in cities stillAre found; they are the thrones of ill;The dismal sinks, where blood is spill'd,Cages with much uncleanness fill'd.But rural shades are the sweet fenseOf piety and innocence.They are the Meek's calm region, whereAngels descend and rule the sphere,Where heaven lies leiger, and the doveDuly as dew, comes from above.If Eden be on Earth at all,'Tis that, which we the country call.
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