Force not to over--growth the subject mind:
Heaven's the power that spread the native soil;
The tillage only asks thy careful toil,
On primal strength dependent: if confined
In depth and barren, simple be thy seed,
Of hardy grain: God's providence hath need
Of some to marshal well the ranks behind,
As of the lofty spirits born to lead.
But if the tender plants of truth thou sow,
Let there be depth of matter genial;
And if the frosts should nip, and strong winds blow,
Their kindly opposites should countervail:
Blest gifts, unfailing in their fostering might,
Sunshine by day, the dews of heaven by night.