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*Tis come, the glorious morn! the second birth
HESE, as they change, ALMIGHTY FATHER,
15 In Winter awful Thou! with clouds and storms Around THEE thrown, tempeft o'er tempeft rollid,
Majestic darkness! on the whirlwind's wing,
Mysterious round! what skill, what force divine, Deep-felt, in these appear! a simple train, Yet so delightful mix'd, with such kind art, Such beauty and beneficence combin'd; Shade, unperceiv'd, so foftening into fhade;
25 And all so forming an harmonious whole; That, as they still succeed, they ravish ftill. But wandering oft, with brute unconscious gaze, Man marks not Thee, marks not the mighty hand, That, ever-busy, wheels the filent spheres ;
30 Works in the secret deep; shoots, steaming, thence The fair profusion that o'erspreads the Spring : Flings from the fun direct the flaming day; Feeds every creature ; hurls the tempest forth ; And, as on earth this grateful change revolves,
35 With transport touches all the springs of life.
NATURE, attend! join every living foul, Beneath the spacious temple of the sky, In adoration join ; and, ardent, raise One general song ! To Him, ye vocal gales, 40 Breathe soft, whose Spirit in
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, 45 Who shake th' astonish'd world, lift high to heaven Th’impetuous fong, and say from wom 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; 50 Ye softer floods, that lead the humid maze Along the vale ; and thou, majestic main, A secret world of wonders in thyself, Sound his stupendous praise ; whose greater voice Or bids you roar, or bids your roarings fall. 55 Soft-roll your incense, herbs, and fruits, and flowers, In mingled clouds to Him; whose fun exalts, Whose breath perfumes you, and whose pencil paints. Ye forests bend, ye harvests wave, to HIM; Breathe your ftill fong into the reaper's heart, 60 As home he goes beneath the joyous moon. Ye that keep watch in heaven, as earth asleep Unconscious lies, effuse your mildest beams, Ye constellations, while your angels strike, Amid the spangled sky, the silver lyre. Great fource of day! best image here below Of thy Creator, ever pouring wide, From world to world, the vital ocean round, On Nature write with every beam his praise. The thunder rolls: be hush'd the prostrate world ; 70 While cloud to cloud returns the solemn bymn.
Bleat out afresh, ye hills : ye moffy rocks,
grove ; There let the shepherd's flute, the virgin's lay, The prompting seraph, and the poet's lyre, Still fing the GOD OF SEASONS, as they roll. For me, when I forget the darling theme, Whether the blossom blows, the summer-ray 95 Russets the plain, inspiring Autumn gleams ; Or Winter rises in the blackening east; Be my tongue mute, may fancy paint no more, And, dead to joy, forget my heart to beat !