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Shade, unperceiv'd, so foftning into lhade;
And all fo forming an harmonious whole;
That, as they still fucceed, they ravifh still.
But wand'ring oft, with brute unconfcious gaze,
Man marks not Thee, marks not the mighty hand,
That, ever-bufy, wheels the filent fpheres;
Works in the fecret deep; fnoots, steaming, thence
The fair profusion that o'er-fpreads 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 tranfport touches all the fprings of life.
Nature, attend ! join every living foul,
Beneath the fpacious temple of the Iky,
Jn adoration join; and, ardent, raife
One general fong! To Him, ye vocal gales,
Breathe foft, whofe Spirit in your freshnefs breathes -
Oh, talk of Him in folitary glooms,
Where o'er the rock, the fcarcely waving pine
Fills the brown ihade with a religious awe!
And ye, whofe bolder note is heard afar,
Who shake the astonish'J world, lift high to heav'n
Th' impetuous fong, and fay from whom you rage.
His praife, ye brooks, attune, ye trembling rills;
And let me catch it as 1 mufe along.
Ye headlong torrents, rapid and profound;
Ye softer floods that lead the humid maze
Along the yale; and thou, majestic main,
A fecret world of wonders in thyfelf,
Sound His stupendous praife, whofe 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,
Whofe breath perfumes you, and whofe pencil paints.
Ye forests bend, ye harvests wave, to Him;
Breathe your still fong into the reaper's heart,
As home he goes beneath the joyous moon.
Ye that keep watch in heav'n, as earth afleep
Unconfcious lies, effufe your mildest beams,
Ye constellations, while your angels stri!cet.
Amid the fpangled sky, the silver lyre.'
Great fource of day! best 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 huih'd the prostrate world;
While cloud to cloud returns the folemn hymn.
Bleat out afrefh, ye hills; ye mosfy rocks,
Retain the found: the broad refponsive lowe.
Ye vallies, rife; for the Great Shepherd reigns:
And His unfuff'ring kingdom yet will come.
Ye woodlands all awake! a boundlefs fong
Burst from the groves! and when the restlefs day,
Expiring, lays the warbling world afleep,
Sweetest of birds 1 fweet Philomela, charm
The list'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,
Grown the great hymn! in fwarming cities vast,
Assembled men, to the deep organ join
The long-refounding voice, oft breaking clear.
At folemn paufes, through the fwelling bafe;
And, as each mingling flame increafes each,
Jn one united ardour rise to heaven.
Or If you rather chufe the rural ihade,
And sind, a fane in ev'ry facred grove;
There let the lhepherd's flute, the virgin's lay,
The prompting feraph, and the poet's lyre,
Still sing the God of Seafons as they roll.
For me, when I forget the darling theme,
Whether the blossom blows; the Summer ray
Russets the plain: infpiring 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 furthest verge
Of the green earth, to distant barb'rous climes,
Rivers unknown to fong; where sirst the fun
Gilds Indian mountains, or his fetting beam
Flames on th' Atlantic ifles: 'tis nought to me:
Since God is ever prefent, ever felt,
In the wide waste, as in the city full;
And where he vital breathes, there must be joy.
When e'en at last the folemn hour stall come,
And wing my mystic flight to future worlds,
I cheerful will obey; there, with new powers,
Will rising wonders sing. I cannot go,
Where univerfal Love not fmiles around,
Sustaining.all yon orhs, and all their sens:
From seeming evil still educing good,
And better thence again, and better still,
Jn insinite progression.—But I lofe
Myfelf in Him, in Light ixirrABLi I
Come then, expressive Silence, mufe His praife.
ON THE LATTER PART OF MATT. VI.
HEN my breast labours with oppressive care,
And o'er my cheek defcends the falling tear;
While all my warring pasfions are at strife,
O let me listen 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 tempest bears;
What further fhall this feeble life fustain,
And what fhall clothe thefe ihiv'ring limbs again.
Say, does not life its nourilhment exceed?
And the fair body its investing weed?
Behold 1 and look away your low defpair;
See the bright tenants of the barren air:
To them, nor stores, nor granaries, belong;
Nought but the woodland, and the pleasing fong:
Yet, your kind heav'nly Father bends his eye
On the least wing that flits beneath the iky.
To Him they sing, when fpring 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 distrefsful call,
And with unfparing bounty sills them all.
Obferve the rifmg lily's fnowy grace, Obferve the various vegetable race; They neither toil nor fpin, but carelefs grow, Yet fee how warm th:y blttflU how bright they glowl
-Ills THEREBE Race, inhabitants of air,
Who hymn your God amid the secret grove; Ye unfeen heings to my harp repair,
JDfl raise majestic strains, or melt in love. l^Me tender notes, how kindly they uphraid!
With what foft woe they thrill the lover's heart! Sure from the hand of fome unhappy maid,
Who dy'd of love those fweet complainings part. But hark! that strain was of a graver tone;
On the deep strings his hand fome hermit throws; Or he, the facred Bard f, who fat alone,
In the drear waste, and wept his people's woes. Such was the fong which Zion's children fung,
When hy Euphrates' stream they made their plaint; And to such fadly folemn notes are strung
Angelic harps, to footh a dying faint. Methinks I hear the full celestial choir,
Thro' heav'n's high dome their awful anthem raife; Now chanting clear, and now they all confpire To fwell the lofty hymn, from praife to praise.