These are thy glorious works, Parent of good!
Almighty! thine this universal frame,
Thus wond'rous fair: thyself, how wond'rous, then,
Unspeakable! who fit'st above these heav'ns,
To us invisible, or dimly seen
In these thy lowest works; yet these declare
Thy goodness beyond thought, and pow'r divine—
Speak, ye who best can tell, ye sons of light,
Angels!—for ye behold him, and, with songs
And choral symphonies, day without night,
Circle his throne, rejoicing. Ye in heav'n!—
On earth, join all ye creatures, to extol
Him first, him last, him midst, and without end,
Fairest of stars! last in the train of night,
If better then, belong not to the dawn,
Sure pledge of day, that crown'st the smiling morn
With thy bright circlet, praise him in thy sphere,
While day arises, that sweet hour of prime.
Thou fun! of this great world both eye and foul,
Acknowledge him thy greater: found his praise
In thy eternal course, both when thou climb'st,
And when high noon has gain'd, and when thou fall'st,
Moon! that now meet'st the orient fun, now fly'st
With the fix'd stars, fix'd in their orb that flies;
And ye five other wand'ring fires! that move
In mystic dance, not without song; resound
His praise, who out of darkness, call'd up light.
Air, and ye elements! the eldest birth
Of nature's womb, that, in quaternion, run
Perpetual circle, multiform, and mix
And nourish all things; let your ceaseless change
Vary, to our great Maker, still new praise,
Ye mists and exhalations! that now rise
From hill or streaming lake, dusky or grey,
Till the sun paint your fleecy skirts with gold,
In honour to the world's great Author, rise;
Whether to deck with clouds, th' uncolour'd sky,
Or wet the thirsty earth with falling show'rs,
Rising, or falling, still advance his praise.
His praise, ye winds! that from four quarters blow,
Breathe soft or loud! and wave your tops, ye pines!
With ev'ry plant, in sign of worship, wave,
Fountains! and ye that warble, as ye flow,
Melodious murmurs, warbling, tune his praise.—-
Join voices, all ye living souls. Ye birds,
That, singing, up to heaven-gate ascend,
Bear, on your wings, and in your notes, his praise.—
Ye, that in waters glide! and ye, that walk
The earth, and stately tread, or lowly creep!
Witness, if I be silent, morn or ev'n,
To hill, or valley, fountain, or fresh shade,
Made vocal by my song, and taught his praise.—
Hail, universal Lord! be bounteous still,
To give us only good: and, if the night
Have gather'd aught of evil, or conceal'd—
Disperse it, as now light dispels the dark.
THE HERMIT.—BY DR. BEATIE.
At the close of the day, when the hamlet is still,
And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove;
When nought, but the torrent, is heard on the hill;
And nought, but the, nightingale's song, in the grove;
'Twas then, by the cave of the fountain afar;
A hermit his song of the night thus began;
No more with himself, or with nature at war,
He thought as a sage, while he felt as a man.
'Ah! why thus abandon'd to darkness and woe?
'Why thus, lonely Philomel, flows thy sad strain?
'For spring shall return, and a lover bestow,
'And thy bosom no trace of misfortune retain.
'Yet, if pity inspire thee, ah! cease not thy lay;
'Mourn, sweetest complainer, man calls thee to mourn;
'Oh! soothe him, whose pleasures, like thine, pass away,
'Full quickly they pass—but they never return.
'Now, gliding remote, on the verge of the sky,
'The moon, half extinguish'd, her crescent displays;
'But lately I mark'd; when majestic: on high
'She shone, and the planets were lost in her blaze.
'Roll on, thou fair orb! and with; gladness pursue
'The path that conducts thee to splendor again—
'But man's faded glory no change shall renew:
'Ah fool! to exult in a glory so vain.
''Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no more;
'I mourn; but ye woodlands! I mourn not for you:
'For morn is approaching, your charms to restore,
'Perfum'd with fresh fragrance, and glitt'ring with dew.
'Nor, yet, for the ravage of winter I mourn;
'Kind nature the embryo blossom will save—
'But, when shall spring visit the mould'ring urn?
'O! when shall it dawn on the night of the grave!'
'Twas thus, by the glare of false science betray'd,
That leads, to bewilder; and dazzles, to blind;
My thoughts want to roam, from shade onward to shade,
Destruction before me, and sorrow behind.
'O! pity, great father of light!' then I cry'd,
'Thy creature, who fain would not wander from thee;
'Lo! humbled in dust, I relinquish my pride:
F'rom doubt, and from darkness, thou only canst free.'
And darkness, and doubt, are now flying away,
No longer I roam, in conjecture forlorn,
So breaks on the traveller, faint, and astray,
The bright and the balmy effulgence of morn.
See truth, love, and mercy, in triumph descending,
And nature all glowing in Eden's first bloom!
On the cold cheek of death, smiles and roses are blending,
And beauty immortal awakes from the tomb,