A MORNING PIECE, OR, AN HYMN for the HAY-MAKERS. ODE I. Christopher Smart Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
Broad Street Oxford OX1 3BG UK
Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T42626 K041581.000 Smart, Christopher, 1722-1771. Poems on several occasions: By Christopher Smart, A. M. Fellow of Pembroke-Hall, Cambridge. London printed for the author, by W. Strahan; and sold by J. Newbery, at the Bible and Sun, in St. Paul’s Church-Yard, MDCCLII. 1752 pp. []-9. [16],230p.,plates; 4⁰.

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A MORNING PIECE , OR , AN HYMN for the HAY-MAKERS . ODE I. Quinetiam Gallum noctem explaudentibus alis Auroram clarâ consuetum voce vocare . LUCRET. BRISK chaunticleer his mattins had begun , And broke the silence of the night , And thrice he call'd aloud the tardy sun , And thrice he hail'd the dawn's ambiguous light ; Back to their graves the fear-begotten phantoms run . Strong Labour got up with his pipe in his mouth , And stoutly strode over the dale , He lent new perfumes to the breath of the south , On his back hung his wallet and flail . Behind him came Health from her cottage of thatch , Where never physician had lifted the latch . First of the village Colin was awake , And thus he sung , reclining on his rake . Now the rural graces three Dance beneath yon maple tree ; First the vestal Virtue , known By her adamantine zone ; Next to her in rosy pride , Sweet Society , the bride ; Last Honesty , full seemly drest In her cleanly home-spun vest . The abby bells in wak'ning rounds The warning peal have giv'n ; And pious Gratitude resounds Her morning hymn to heav'n . All nature wakes — the birds unlock their throats , And mock the shepherd's rustic notes . All alive o'er the lawn , Full glad of the dawn , The little lambkins play , Sylvia and Sol arise , — and all is day — Come , my mates , let us work , And all hands to the fork , While the Sun shines , our Hay-cocks to make , So fine is the Day , And so fragrant the Hay , That the Meadow's as blithe as the Wake .

Our voices let's raise In Phoebus's praise , Inspir'd by so glorious a theme , Our musical words Shall be join'd by the birds , And we'll dance to the tune of the stream .