Along the Sunny Bank, or wat'ry Mead,
Ten thousand Stalks their various Blossoms spread:
Peaceful and lowly in their native Soil,
They neither know to spin, nor care to toil;
Yet with confess'd Magnificence deride
Our vile Attire, and Impotence of Pride.
The  smiles, in brighter yellow dress'd,
Than That which veils the nubile Virgin's Breast.
A fairer Red stands blushing in the ,
Than That which on the Bridegroom's Vestment flows.
Take but the humblest  of the Field;
And if our Pride will to our Reason yield,
It must by sure Comparison be shown,
That on the Regal Seat great  Son,
Aray'd in all his Robes, and Types of Pow'r,
Shines with less Glory, than that simple Flow'r.