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Poem	Complaint of quarrelsome neighbors; or, A devout wish for peace. Thou God of love, thou ever-blest, Pity my suff'ring state; When wilt thou set my soul at rest From lips that love deceit? Hard lot of mine! my days are cast Among the sons of strife, Whose never-ceasing brawling waste My golden hours of life. O might I fly to change my place, How would I choose to dwell In some wide lonesome wilderness, And leave these gates of hell! Peace is the blessing that I seek, How lovely are its charms! I am for peace; but when I speak, They all declare for arms. New passions still their souls engage, And keep their malice strong: What shall be done to curb thy rage, O thou devouring tongue! Should burning arrows smite thee through Strict justice would approve; But I had rather spare my foe, And melt his heart with love.
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