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Be fruitful, multiply, and fill the earth ; Delighted ; and with frequent intercourse
THE WORKS OF GOD PRAISING This garden, planted with the trees of God,
SING thy Creator's praise, and own
And, clothed in garments pure and bright Thou may'st not; in the day thou eat'st, Of honor and of majesty, thou diest;
He makes the skies His canopy.
The clouds of heaven. Th' Eternal Mind
day; Yet not till the Creator from his work Thou reard'st the universe sublime Desisting, though unwearied, up return'd, On arches of unshaken timeUp to the Heaven of Heavens, his bigh And wrap'dst this vast terraqueous globe abode;
With the deep waters as a robeThence to behold this new created world, And bad'st the eternal hills sustain T'he addition of his empire, how it show'd The o'erhanging pregnant clouds of rain. In prospect from his throne, how good, how fair,
At Thy decree the waters fallAnswering his great idea. Up he rode They hasten at Thy thunder's call; Follow'd with acclamation, and the sound Down from the rocky height they gosh, Symphonious of ten thousand harps, that And thru the thirsty valleys rush tuned
On to the vast receptacle, Angelic harmonies: the earth, the air Where Thou hast bid the waters dwell. Resounded (thou remember'st, for thou heards't,)
There hast Thou girt them with a shore, The heavens and all the constellations ring; That they may flood the earth no more: The planets in their station listening stood, While thousand and ten thousand rills, While the bright pomp ascended jubilant. Wand'ring among the mazy hills, Open, ye everlasting gates ! they sung, Fresh from their sparkling fountain burst, Open, ye Heavens! your living doors; let in Where the wild asses quench their thirst. The great Creator from his work return'd Magnificent, bis six days work, a World; "Tis there, along the streamlet's side, Open, and henceforth oft; for God will The winged fowls of heaven abide ; deign
Among the waving boughs they sing, To visit oft the dwellings of just men, That overhang the crystal spring:
Methinks thou piercest it As with a wedge; but when I look again It seems thy own calm home, thy crystal shrine, Thy habitation from Eternity ! O dread and silent form! I gazed upon thee, Till thou, still present to my bodily eye, Didst vanish from my thought. Entranc'd in prayer I worshipp'd the Invisible alone. Yet thou mean time wert working on my soul, E'en like some deep enchanting melody, So sweet we know not we are list’ning to it. But I awake, and with a busier mind And active will self-conscious offer now, Not as before involuntary prayer, And passive adoration ! Hand and voice Awake, awake, and thou my heart awake! Awake ye rocks, ye forest pines awake! Green fields and icy cliffs all join my hymn! And thou, O silent mountain, sole and bare, O blacker than the darkness all the night, And visited all night by troops of stars, Or when they climb the sky, or when they sink, Companion of the morning star at dawn, Thyself earth's rosy star, and of the dawn Co-herald ! wake, 0 wake, and utter praise ! Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in earth? Who fill'd thy countenance with rosy light? Who made thee father of perpetual beams? And you, ye five wild torrents, fiercely glad, Who call you forth from night and utter death, 'From darkness set you loose, and icy dens Down those precipitous, black, jagged rocks For ever shattered and the same for ever? Who gave you your invulnerable life, Your strength, your speed, your fury and your joy, Unceasing thunder and eternal foam ? And who commanded and the silence came, « Here shall the billows stiffen and have rest ?" Ye icy falls, ye that from dizzy heights Adown enormous ravines steeply slope, Torrents methinks that heard a mighty voice, And stopped at once amidst their maddest plunge : Motionless torrents, silent cataracts! Who made yon glorious as the gate of heaven Beneath the keen full moon?
Who bade the sun Clothe you with rainbows? Who with lovely flowers Or living blue spread garlands at your feet? God! God ! the torrents like a shout of nations Utter. The ice-plain bursts and answers, God ! God! sing the meadow-streams with gladsome voice, And pine-groves with their soft and soul-like sound. The silent snow.mass looseping, thunders, God!
Ye dreadless flowers, that fringe the eternal frost,