Circle his throne rojoicing; ye in Heaven,
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 thou belong not to the dawn,

Sure pledge of day, that crown'st the smiling morn With thy bright circlet, praise him in the sphere, While day arises, that sweet hour of prime.

Thou Sun, of this great world both eye and soul,
Acknowledge him thy greater, sound his praise
In thy eternal course, both when thou climb'st,
And when high noon hast gained, and when thou
fall'st.

Moon, that now meets the orient sun, now fly'st
With the fixed stars, fixed in their orb that flies,
And ye five other wondering fires that move
In mystic dance, not without song resound
His praise, who out of darkness called 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 steaming lake, dusky or gray
Till the sun point your fleecy skirts with gold,
In honour to the world's great Author, rise,
Whether to deck with clouds the uncoloured sky.
Or wet the thirsty earth with falling showers,
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 every 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's 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 even,

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 gathered aught of evil or concealed,
Disperse it, as now light dispels the dark.

THE LOVE OF GOD.

BY MILMAN.

I.

LOVE Thee!-oh, Thou, the world's eternal Sire! Whose palace is the vast infinity;

Time, space, height, depth, oh, God! are full of

Thee,

And sun-eyed seraphs tremble and admire.
Love Thee!-but Thou art girt with vengeful fire,
And mountains quake, and banded nations flee;
And terror shakes the wide unfathom'd sea,
When the heavens rock with Thy tempestuous ire.
Oh, Thou!-too vast for thought to comprehend,
That wast ere time,-shalt be when time is o'er
Ages and worlds begin-grow old-and end,-
System and suns Thy changeless throne before,
Commence and close their cycles :-lost, I bend
To earth my prostrate soul, and shudder and adore!

II.

Love Thee!-oh, clad in human lowliness,-
In whom each heart its mortal kindred knows,-
Our flesh, our form, our tears, our pains, our woes:
A fellow-wanderer o'er earth's wilderness!
Love Thee!-whose every word but breathes to
bless!

Through Thee, from long-seal'd lips, glad language flows;

The blind their eyes, that laugh with light, unclose;
And babes, unchid, Thy garment's hem caress.
I see Thee-doom'd by bitterest pangs to die,
Up the sad hill, with willing footsteps move,
With scourge, and taunt, and wanton agony;
While the cross nods, in hedious gloom, above,
Though all-even there-be radiant Deity!
Speechless I gaze, and my whole soul is love!

HYMN OF THE SEASONS.

BY THOMPSON.

THESE, as they change, Almighty Father, these
Are but the varied God. The rolling year
Is full of thee. Forth in the pleasing spring
Thy beauty walks, thy tenderness and love.
Wide flush the fields; the softening air is balm,
Echo the mountains round; the forest smiles;
And every sense and every heart is joy.
Then comes thy glory in the summer-months,
With light and heart refulgent. Then thy sun
Shoots full perfection through the swelling year;
And oft thy voice in dreadful thunder speaks;
And oft at dawn, deep noon, or falling eve,
By brooks and groves, in hollow-whispering gales..
Thy bounty shines in autumn unconfined,
And spreads a common feast for all that lives.
In winter awful thou! with clouds and storms
Around thee thrown, tempest o'er tempest rolled.
Majestic darkness! on the whirlwind's wing
Riding sublime, thou bidd'st the world adore,
And humblest Nature with thy northern blast.
Mysterious round. what skill, what force divine,
Deep felt, in these appear! a simple train,
Yet so delightful mixed, with such kind art,
Such beauty and beneficence combined,

Shade unperceived so softening into shade,
And all so forming an harmonious whole,
That, as they still succeed, they ravish still.
But wandering oft, with brute unconscious gaze,
Man marks not thee, marks not the mighty hand
That, ever busy, wheels the silent spheres,
Works in the secret deep,shoots, steaming, thence
The fair profusion that o'erspreads the spring;
Flings from the sun direct the flaming day,
Feeds every creature, hurls the tempest forth,
And, as on earth this greatful change revolves,
With transport touches all the springs of life.
Nature, attend! join every living soul
Beneath the spacious temple of the sky,
In adoration join; and, ardent, raise

One general song! To him, ye vocal gales Breathe soft, whose spirit in your freshness breathes,

Oh, talk of him in solitary glooms,

Where, o'er the rock, the scarcely waving pine Fills the brown shade with a religious awe! And ye whose bolder note is heard afar,

Who shake the astonished world, lift high to heaven

The impetuous song, and say from whom you rage.
His praise, ye brooks, attune, ye trembling rills
And let me catch it as I muse along.
Ye headlong torrents, rapid and profound,—
Ye softer floods, that lead the humid maze
Along the vale,--and thou, majestic main,-