Walking

To walk abroad is, not with Eys,
But Thoughts, the Fields to see & prize;
Els may the silent Feet,
Like Logs of Wood,
Mov up & down, & see no Good,
Nor Joy nor Glory meet.

Ev'n Carts & Wheels their place do change,
But cannot see; tho very strange
The Glory that is by:
Dead Puppets may
Mov in the bright & glorious Day,
Yet not behold the Sky.

And are not Men than they more blind,
Who having Eys yet never find
The Bliss in which they mov:
Like Statues dead
They up & down are carried,
Yet neither see nor lov.

To walk is by a Thought to go;
To mov in Spirit to & fro;
To mind the Good we see;
To taste the Sweet;
Observing all the things we meet
How choice & rich they be.

To note the Beauty of the Day,
And golden Fields of Corn survey;
Admire each pretty Flow'r
With its sweet Smell;
To prais their Maker, & to tell
The Marks of His Great Pow'r.

To fly abroad like activ Bees,
Among the Hedges & the Trees,
To cull the Dew that lies
On evry Blade,
From evry Blossom; till we lade
Our Minds, as they their Thighs.

Observ those rich & glorious things,
The Rivers, Meadows, Woods, & Springs
The fructifying Sun;
To note from far
The Rising of each Twinkling Star
For us his Race to run.

A little Child these well perceivs,
Who, tumbling in green Grass & Leavs
May Rich as Kings be thought:
But there's a Sight
Which perfect Manhood may delight,
To which we shall be brought.

While in those pleasant Paths we talk
'Tis that tow'rds which at last we walk;
For we may by degrees
Wisely proceed
Pleasures of Lov & Prais to heed,
From viewing Herbs & Trees.