Fresh fields and woods! the Earth's fair face, br God's foot-stool, and man's dwelling-place. br I ask not why the first Believer br Did love to be a country liver? br Who to secure pious content br Did pitch by groves and wells his tent; br Where he might view the boundless sky, br And all those glorious lights on high; br With flying meteors, mists and show'rs, br Subjected hills, trees, meads and flow'rs; br And ev'ry minute bless the King br And wise Creator of each thing. br I ask not why he did remove br To happy Mamre's holy grove, br Leaving the cities of the plain br To Lot and his successless train? br All various lusts in cities still br Are found; they are the thrones of ill; br The dismal sinks, where blood is spill'd, br Cages with much uncleanness fill'd. br But rural shades are the sweet fense br Of piety and innocence. br They are the Meek's calm region, where br Angels descend and rule the sphere, br Where heaven lies leiger, and the dove br Duly as dew, comes from above. br If Eden be on Earth at all, br 'Tis that, which we the country call.