To Solomon's Temple I repaired,
To take a wider view;
And as I was a stranger there,
All things appeared new.
How dare the wicked infidel
Say that there is no God?
These mountains high and these firm rocks
May crumble at His nod.
In Him I live, in Him I move,
In Him I have my being;
In Him I on this mount now stand
And paint this beauteous scene.
Brierlow and Foxlow I remark'd,
Haddon and Croome likewise;
But Axedge overcap'd them all,
And struck me with surprise.
The Lover's Leap likewise I view'd,
Shootingslow did appear;
The Cat-and-Fiddle I have seen
But I was never there.
Chee Tor, Bakewell, and Matlock too,
Likewise the Diamond Hill;
The Shivering Tor for to describe
Is far beyond my skill.
Now from this mount I do descend
Into the vale below,
From whence the River Wye doth spring,
And sweetly on doth flow.
For to describe the beauties all,
Display'd in Derbyshire;
Instead of musing for one day,
Methinks 'twould take a year.
Having seen seventy years and three,
My days are not a few;
I may expect in a short time,
To bid this world adieu.
May blessings rest on all your heads,
Ye rich, likewise ye poor;
Something forebodes within my mind,
I must see these Derby Hills no more.