III. Thou fill'd'ft the waste of ocean, earth, and air, 15 To blefs, and to be blefs'd, their nobleft end; 20 To which, with speedy course, they all unerring tend. IV. 25 Conscious of thee, with nobler pow'rs endu'd, V. By thee, his glories veil'd in mortal shroud, On To thee, munific, ever-flaming LOVE! $ 40 Tune the glad voice, and sweep the warbling strings. VII. It comes! it comes! I feel internal day; Transfufive warmth through all my bofom glows; My foul expanding gives the torrent way; 45 Thus, ravish'd from the scene of night and woes, Oh! fnatch me, bear me to thy happy reign; There teach my tongue thy praife in more ex alted ftrain. An An HYMN to BENEVOLENCE. H AIL! fource of tranfport ever new; Whilft thy kind dictates I purfue, I taste a joy fincere; Too vaft for little minds to know, Who on themselves alone beftow Their wifhes and their care. Daughter of God! delight of man! From thee felicity began; Which still thy hand sustains : By thee fweet Peace her empire fpread, Fair Science rais'd her laurel'd head, And Difcord gnash'd in chains. Far as the pointed fun-beam flies, Through peopled earth and starry skies, All nature owns thy nod: We fee thy energy prevail Through Being's ever-rifing scale, From nothing ev'n to God. 12 D Envy, that tortures her own heart With plagues and ever-burning fmart, Thy charms divine expel: Aghast she shuts her livid eyes, And, wing'd with tenfold fury, flies By thee infpir'd, the gen'rous breast, With goodness large and free, Delights the widow's tears to ftay, To teach the blind their smoothest way, And aid the feeble knee. O come! and o'er my bofom reign, Each low, each felfifh with controul, And make me wholly thine. Nor let fair Virtue's mortal bane, The foul-contracting thirst of gain, 30 35 My My faintest wishes sway; By her poffefs'd, ere hearts refine, In hell's dark depth fhall mercy fhine, If from thy facred paths I turn, Nor feel their griefs, while others mourn, 40 45 Banifh'd from God, from blifs, and thee, My own tormentor let me be, And groan in hopeless woe. An HYMN to FORTITUDE. N IGHT, brooding o'er her mute domain, Clouds prefs on clouds, and, as they rife, PORTENTOUS, through the foggy air, To wake the Daemon of despair, TO HECATE Curft anthems howl. 5 |