That Golden Age, when void of cares,
All the long summer's day,
We atoms in his beams might sport and play:
Yes, we can teach our children to bewail
His fatal loss, when we shall fail,
40And make babes learn in after days
The pretty way of stammering out his praise,
His merited praise, which shall in every age
With all advantage flame
In spite of furies or infernal rage,