48
L. M.
Praise of God peculiarly due from man.
There seems a voice in every gale,
A tongue in every opening flower,
Which tells, O Lord! the wondrous tale
Of thy indulgence, love, and power.
2 The birds that rise on soaring wing
Appear to hymn their Maker’s praise,
And all the mingling sounds of spring
To thee a general paean raise.
3 And shall my voice, great God, alone
Be mute ’midst nature’s loud acclaim?
No; let my heart with answering tone
Breathe forth in praise thy holy name.
4 And nature’s debt is small to mine;
Thou bad’st her being bounded be,
But—matchless proof of love divine—
Thou gav’st immortal life to me.
Mrs. Opie.