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*Tis come, the glorious morn! the second birth
Of heaven, and earth! awakening Nature hears
The new creating word, and starts to life,
In every heightened form, from pain and death 1045
For ever free. The great eternal scheme
Involving all, and in a perfect whole
Uniting, as the prospect wider spreads,
To reason's eye refin'd clears up apace.
Ye vainly wise! ye blind presumptuous ! now, 1050
Confounded in the dust, adore that POWER,
And Wisdom oft arraign'd: see now the cause,
Why unaffuming worth in secret liv'd,
And dy'd, neglected : why the good Man's share
In life was gall and bitterness of soul :

Why the lone widow, and her orphans pin'd,
In starving folitude ; while luxury,
In palaces, lay straining her low thought,
To form unreal wants : why heaven-born truth,
And moderation fair, wore the red marks 1060
of superstition's scourge: why licens'd pain,
That cruel spoiler, that embosom’d foe,
Imbitter'd all our bliss. Ye good diftreft!
Ye noble few! who here unbending stand
Beneath life's preffure, yet bear up a while, 1065
And what your bounded view, which only saw
A little part, deem'd Evil is no more :
The storms of Wintry Time will quickly pass,
And one'unbounded SPRING encircle all.


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HESE, as they change, ALMIGHTY FATHER,

Are but the varied God. The rolling year
Is full of Thee. Forth in the pleasing Spring
The beauty walks, Thy tenderness and love.
Wide Alush the fields ; the softening air is balm ; 5
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 heat refulgent. Then the sun
Shoots full perfection thro' the swelling year :
And oft The 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 unconfind,
And spreads a common feaft for all that lives.

15 In Winter awful Thou! with clouds and storms Around THEE thrown, tempeft o'er tempeft rollid,



Majestic darkness! on the whirlwind's wing,
Riding sublime, Thou bidit the world adore,
And humbleft Nature with the northern blast.


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,
Retain the sound : the broad responsive lowe,
Ye valleys, raise ; for the Great Sherherd reigns;
And his unsuffering kingdom yet will come.

Ye woodlands all, awake: a boundless song
Burst from the groves ! and when the restless day,
Expiring, lays the warbling world asleep,
Sweetest of birds ! sweet Philomela, charm
The listening shades, and teach the night his praise. 80
Ye chief, for whom the whole creation smiles ;
At once the head, the heart, and tongue of all,
Crown the great hymn! in swarming cities vast,
Assembled men, to the deep organ join
The long-resounding voice, oft-breaking clear, 85
At solemn pauses, thro' the swelling base ;
And, as each mingling fame increases each,
In one united ardor rise to heaven.
Or if you rather chuse the rural shade,
And find a fane in

every sacred

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 !



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