Behold the blushing rose Her lovely tints display, The queen of ev'ry flow'r that blows Beneath the eye of day! Yon lily of the vale, Scarce peeping thro' the green, That folds around her bosom pale, Aspires not to be seen. The same Almighty hand That decks with gems the skies, Makes the Fly's painted wings expand, And the gay tulip rise. When tempests threaten loud, His rays of light he pours, And forms the rainbow in the cloud, Dissolving soon in show'rs! And shall a child be vain, Less than the lily fair? Can I so soft a tint obtain, Or with the rose compare? The beauty of the mind Let me then learn to prize, Nor boast of features far beneath The pride of flow'rs and flies! If I am not as fair, I am as frail as they. To honour God be all my care, And that without delay. _London, Published by R. Miller, Old Fish Street, Doctors Commons._ ------------------------------------------------------------------------ N^o. 17. [Illustration] _The_ VILLAGE PREACHER Goldsmith.