In mingled clouds to HIM; whose sun exalts, Whose breath perfumes you, and whose pencil paints.
Ye forests bend, ye harvests wave, to HIM;
Breathe your still song into the reaper's heart,
As home he goes beneath the joyous moon.
Ye that keep watch in heaven, as earth asleep
Unconscious lies, effuse your mildest beams,
Ye constellations, while your angels strike,
Amid the spangled sky, the silver lyre.
Great source of day! best image here below
Of thy Creator, ever pouring wide,
From world to world, the vital ocean round,
On Nature write with ev'ry beam His praise.
The thunder rolls: be hush'd the prostrate world!
While cloud to cloud returns the solemn hymn.
Bleat out afresh, ye hills; ye mossy rocks
Retain the sound: the broad responsive low,
Ye valleys, raise; for the Great Shepherd reigns;
And his unsuffering kingdom yet will come.
Ye woodlands, all awake: a boundless song
Burst from the groves! and when the restless day,
Expiring, lays the warbling world asleep,
Sweetest of birds, sweet Philomela, charm
The list'ning shades, and teach the night HIS
praise.
Ye, chief, for whom the whole creation smiles,
At once the head, the heart, and tongue of all,
Crown the great hymn! in swarming cities vast,
Assembled men, to the deep organ join
The long resounding voice, oft breaking clear,
At solemn pauses thro' the swelling base;
And as each mingling flame increases each,
In one united ardour rise to heaven.
Or, if you rather chuse the rural shade,
And find a fane in ev'ry sacred grove;
There let the shepherd's lute, the virgin's lay,
The prompting seraph and the poet's lyre,
Still sing the GOD of SEASONS, as they roll.
For me, when I forget the darling theme,
Whether the blossoms blow, the summer ray
Russets the plain, inspiring autumn gleams,
Or winter rises in the black'ning east ;
Be my tongue mute, my fancy paint no more,
And, dead to joy, forget my heart to beat!
Should fate command me to the farthest verge Of the green earth, to distant barb'rous climes, Rivers unknown to song; where first the sun Gilds Indian mountains, or his setting beam Flames on th' Atlantic isles: 'tis nought to me: Since God is ever present, ever felt,
In the void waste, as in the city full;
And where HE vital breathes, there must be joy.
When even at last the solemn hour shall come,
And wing my mystic flight to future worlds,
I cheerful will obey; there with new pow'rs
Will rising wonders sing! I cannot go
Where UNIVERSAL LOVE Smiles not around,
Sustaining all yon orbs and all their suns ;
From seeming evil, still educing good;
And better thence again, and better still,
In infinite progression: But I lose
Myself in HIM, in LIGHT INEFfable !
Come then, expressive silence, muse his praise.
On the Glories of the Heavens.
THE spacious firmament on high,
With all the blue ætherial sky,
And spangled heav'ns, a shining frame,
Their great Original proclaim :
Th' unwearied sun from day to day,
Does his Creator's pow'r display,
And publishes to ev'ry land
The work of an Almighty hand.
Soon as the ev'ning shades prevail,
The moon takes up the wond'rous tale,
And, nightly, to the list'ning earth,
Repeats the story of her birth :
Whilst all the stars that round her burn,
And all the planets in their turn,
Confirm the tidings as they roll,
And spread the truth from pole to pole.
What though, in solemn silence, all
Move round the dark terrestrial ball!
What though nor real voice nor sound
Amid their radiant orbs be found!
In reason's ear they all rejoice,
And utter forth a glorious voice,
For ever singing as they shine,
"The hand that made us is Divine."
David's Pastoral Hymn on Providence.
THE Lord my pasture shall prepare,
And feed me with a shepherd's care;
His presence shall my wants supply,
And guard me with a watchful eye;
My noon-day walks he shall attend,
And all my mid-night hours defend.
When in the sultry glebe I faint,
Or on the thirsty mountains pant;
To fertile vales and dewy meads
My weary wand'ring steps he leads;
Where peaceful rivers, soft and slow,
Amid the verdant landscape flow.
Tho' in the paths of death I tread,
With gloomy horrors overspread,
My steadfast heart shall fear no ill,
For thou, O LORD, art with me still;
Thy friendly crook shall give me aid,
And guide me through the dreadful shade.
Tho' in a bare and rugged way,
Through devious lonely wilds I stray,
Thy bounty shall my pains beguile :
The barren wilderness shall smile,
With sudden greens and herbage crown'd,
And streams shall murmur all around.
WHEN all thy mercies, O my GOD!
My rising soul surveys ;
Transported with the view, I'm lost
In wonder, love, and praise:
O how shall words, with equal warmth,
The gratitude declare
That glows within my ravish'd heart?
But thou canst read it there.
Thy providence my life sustain'd
And all my wants redress'd,
When in the silent womb I lay,
And hung upon the breast.
To all my weak complaints and cries
Thy mercy lent an ear,
Ere yet my feeble thoughts had learn'd
To form themselves in pray'r.
Unnumber'd comforts to my soul
Thy tender care bestow'd,
Before my infant heart conceiv'd
From whom those comforts flow'd.
When in the slippery paths of youth,
With heedless steps I ran,
Thine arm, unseen, convey'd me safe,
And led me up to man.
Through hidden dangers, toils, and deaths,
It gently clear'd my way,
And through the pleasing snares of vice,
More to be fear'd than they.
When worn with sickness, oft hast thou
With health reney'd my face;
And when in sins and sorrows sunk,
Reviv'd my soul with grace.
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