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Shade, unperceiv'd, fo foftning into shade;
And all fo forming an harmonious whole;
That, as they ftill fucceed, they ravish still.
But wand'ring oft, with brute unconscious gaze,
Man marks not Thee, marks not the mighty hand,
That, ever-busy, wheels the filent spheres ;
Works in the fecret deep; shoots, steaming, thence
The fair profufion that o'er-spreads the Spring;
Flings from the fun direct the flaming day;
Feeds ev'ry creature; hurls the tempest forth;
And as on earth this grateful change revolves,
With transport touches all the springs of life.
Nature, attend! join every living foul,
Beneath the fpacious temple of the sky,
In adoration join; and, ardent, raise
One general fong! To Him, ye vocal gales,
Breathe soft, whose Spirit in your freshness breathes :
Oh, talk of Him in folitary glooms,
Where o'er the rock, the scarcely waving pine
Fills the brown shade with a religious awe!
And ye, whofe bolder note is heard afar,
Who shake the astonish'd world, lift high to heav'n
Th' impetuous fong, and say from whom you rage.
His praife, ye brooks, attune, ye trembling rills;
And let me catch it as I mufe along.
Ye headlong torrents, rapid and profound;
Ye fofter floods that lead the humid maze
Along the vale; and thou, majestic main,
A fecret world of wonders in thyself,
Sound His ftupendous praise, whose greater voice
Or bids you roar, or bids your roarings fall.
Soft roll your incenfe, herbs, and fruits, and flowers,
In mingled clouds to Him, whofe fun exalts,
Whose breath perfumes you, and whofe pencil paints.
Ye forefts bend, ye harvefts wave, to Him;
Breathe your ftill fong into the reaper's heart,
As home he goes beneath the joyous moon.
Ye that keep watch in heav'n, as earth asleep
Unconscious lies, effuse your mildest beams,
Ye conftellations, while your angels ftrike,
Amid the fpangled fky, the filver lyre.
Great fource of day! beft image here below
Of thy Creator, ever pouring wide,
From world to world, the vital ocean round,
On nature write, with every beam, His praife.
The thunder rolls: be hufh'd the proftrate world;
While cloud to cloud returns the folemn hymn.
Bleat out afresh, ye hills; ye moffy rocks,
Retain the found: the broad refponfive lowe.
Ye vallies, rife; for the Great Shepherd reigns:
And His unfuff'ring kingdom yet will come.
Ye woodlands all awake! a boundless fong
Burft from the groves! and when the reftlefs day,
Expiring, lays the warbling world afleep,
Sweeteft of birds! fweet Philomela, charm
The lift'ning shades, and teach the night his praife.
Ye, chief, for whom the whole creation fmiles,
At once the head, the heart, and tongue of all,
Crown the great hymn! in swarming cities vast,
Affembled men, to the deep organ join
The long-refounding voice, oft breaking clear,
At folemn pauses, through the fwelling base;
And, as each mingling flame increases each,
In one united ardour rife to heaven.
Or if you rather chufe the rural shade,
And find a fane in ev'ry facred grove;
There let the fhepherd's flute, the virgin's lay,
The prompting feraph, and the poet's lyre,
Still fing the God of Seasons as they roll.
For me, when I forget the darling theme,
Whether the bloffom blows; the Summer ray
Ruffets the plain; inspiring Autumn gleams;
Or Winter rifes in the black'ning east ;
Be my tongue mute, may fancy paint no more,
And, dead to joy, forget my heart to beat.
Should Fate command me to the furtheft verge Of the green earth, to diftant barb'rous climes, Rivers unknown to fong; where first the fun Gilds Indian mountains, or his fetting beam Flames on th' Atlantic ifles: 'tis nought to me: Since God is ever present, ever felt,
In the wide wafte, as in the city full;
And where he vital breathes, there must be joy.
When e'en at laft the folemn hour shall come,
And wing my myftic fight to future worlds,
I cheerful will obey; there, with new powers,
Will rifing wonders fing. I cannot go,
Where univerfal Love not fmiles around,
Sustaining all yon orbs, and all their fons:
From feeming evil ftill educing good,
And better thence again, and better still,
In infinite progreffion. But I lofe
Myfelf in Him, in LIGHT INEFFABLE!
Come then, expreffive Silence, mufe His praife.
ON THE LATTER PART OF MATT. VI.
WHEN my breast labours with oppreffive care,
And o'er my cheek defcends the falling tear;
While all my warring paffions are at ftrife,
O let me liften to the words of life!
Raptures deep-felt His doctrine did impart,
And thus He rais'd from earth the drooping heart.
Think not, when all your fcanty stores afford
Is fpread at once upon the fparing board;
Think not, when worn the homely robe appears;
While on the roof the howling tempeft bears;
What further fhall this feeble life fuftain,
And what shall clothe thefe fhiv'ring limbs again.
Say, does not life its nourishment exceed?
And the fair body its invefting weed?
Behold! and look away your low defpair;
See the bright tenants of the barren air:
To them, nor ftores, nor granaries, belong;
Nought but the woodland, and the pleafing fong:
Yet, your kind heav`nly Father bends his eye
On the leaft wing that flits beneath the sky.
To Him they fing, when spring renews the plain,
To Him they cry, in winter's pinching reign;
Nor is their music, nor their plaint in vain :
He hears the gay, and the distressful call,
And with unfparing bounty fills them all.
Obferve the rifing lily's fnowy grace,
Obferve the various vegetable race;
They neither toil nor fpin, but careless grow,
Yet fee how warm they blush! how bright they glow!
What regal vestments can with them compare!
What king fo fhining, or what queen so fair!
If, ceaseless, thus the fowls of heav'n He feeds,
If o'er the fields fuch lucid robes He spreads;
Will He not care for you, ye faithless, say?
Is He unwife? or, are ye lefs than they?
ODE ON EOLUS'S HARP. ETHEREAL Race, inhabitants of air,
Who hymn your God amid the fecret grove; Ye unfeen beings to my harp repair,
And raise majestic strains, or melt in love.
Those tender notes, how kindly they upbraid!
With what foft woe they thrill the lover's heart!
Sure from the hand of fome unhappy maid,
Who dy'd of love those sweet complainings part. But hark! that strain was of a graver tone;
On the deep ftrings his hand some hermit throws; Or he, the facred Bard †, who sat alone,
In the drear waste, and wept his people's woes. Such was the fong which Zion's children fung, When by Euphrates' ftream they made their plaint; And to fuch fadly folemn notes are ftrung Angelic harps, to footh a dying faint.
Methinks I hear the full celeftial choir,
Thro' heav'n's high dome their awful anthem raisea Now chanting clear, and now they all confpire To fwell the lofty hymn, from praise to praife. The prophet Jeremiah.