Nature is Christian; preaches to mankind;
And bids dead matter aid us in our creed.
Young.
How faint is language when we strive to sing
The beauties of the Almighty hand!
Each year upon our outward sense they win,
With all increasing and still varying force;
The seasons, days, months, years, incessant bring
Contrasting changes! First seeds, leaves, expand
As the young years with tender warmth begin,