And earth, and ocean, pay their debt of man,
True to the grand deposit trusted there?
Is there no potentate, whose outstretch’d arm, 920
When ripening time calls forth th’ appointed hour,
Pluck’d from foul Devastation’s famish’d maw,
Binds present, past, and future, to his throne?
His throne, how glorious, thus divinely graced,
By germinating beings clustering round!
A garland worthy the divinity!
A throne, by Heaven’s omnipotence in smiles,