LXXXIII.

HYMN.

THERE's not a leaf within the bower;
There's not a bird upon the tree;
There's not a dewdrop on the flower,
But bears the impress, Lord! of thee.

Thy hand the varied leaf design'd,

And gave the bird its thrilling tone; Thy power the dewdrop's tints combined, Till like a diamond's blaze they shone.

Yes: dewdrops, leaves, and buds, and all, The smallest, like the greatest things; The sea's vast space, the earth's wide ball, Alike proclaim thee King of kings.

But man alone to bounteous Heaven Thanksgiving's conscious strains can raise ;

To favour'd man alone 'tis given

To join the angelic choir in praise!

END OF VOL. I.

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