HYMN TO THE CREATOR.
THESE are thy glorious works, Parent of good, Almighty! thine this universal frame,
Thus wondrous fair; thyself how wondrous then! Unspeakable! who sit'st above these heavens To us invisible, or dimly seen
In these thy lowest works; yet these declare Thy goodness beyond thought, and power divine. Speak ye who best can tell, ye sons of light, Angels! for ye behold him, and with songs And choral symphonies, day without night, Circle his throne rejoicing: 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 thy 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 gain'd, and when thou
Moon, that now meet'st the orient sun, now fly'st,
With the fix'd stars, fix'd in their orb that flies, And ye five other wand'ring fires that move In mystic dance, not without song, resound His praise, who out of darkness call'd 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 your great Maker still new praise. Ye mists and exhalations that now rise From hill or steaming lake, dusky or grey, Till the sun paints your fleecy skirts with gold, In honour to the world's great Author, rise; Whether to deck with clouds th' uncolour'd sky, Or wet the thirsty earth with falling show'rs, 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 ev'ry 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 gather'd ought of evil or conceal'd, Disperse it, as now light dispels the dark.
GOD THE LIFE OF ALL THINGS.
A soul in all things, and that soul is God. The beauties of the wilderness are His, That makes so gay the solitary place, Where no eye sees them. And the fairer forms, That cultivation glories in, are His.
He sets the bright procession on its way, And marshals all the order of the year;
He marks the bounds, which winter may not pass, And blunts his pointed fury; in its case, Russet and rude, folds up the tender germ, Uninjured, with inimitable art;
And, ere one flow'ry season fades and dies, Designs the blooming wonders of the next. The Lord of all, himself through all diffused, Sustains, and is the life of all that lives. Nature is but a name for an effect, Whose cause is God. One Spirit-His,
Who wore the platted thorns with bleeding brows- Rules universal nature. Not a flower
But shows some touch, in freckle, streak, or stain, Of his unrivall'd pencil. He inspires Their balmy odours, and imparts their hues, And bathes their eyes with nectar, and includes, In grains as countless as the seaside sands, The forms with which he sprinkles all the earth. Happy who walks with him! whom what he finds Of flavour or of scent in fruit or flower, Or what he views of beautiful or grand In Nature, from the broad majestic oak To the green blade that twinkles in the sun, Prompts with remembrance of a present God.
GOD IN THE SOUL.
ALL that is fair, and bright, and glorious, Of matchless grandeur and sublimity; And all of beauty that breaks forth and shines To the enraptured sense; the sights and sounds Of ever-varying nature; all are Thine.
Thy presence, Lord, is beaming through their powers With a transcendent brightness; when afar, The flowing sea's sublime monotony
Is borne upon the zephyrs, or the thunder, Robed in the dun of thickest night, rolls on, Like all triumphant victory, that brings
Shouts at her chariot wheels; why Thou art there! Thou the Omnipotent! guiding the fierce fires, That rush like mighty coursers through the sky, And hurling forth the storm: nor less art Thou Amid the soft and sweeter beauties of The green and happy earth: in every tint Of soft chamelion changes that array
The blithe young morning in ten thousand charms, And in the brightness of the mid-day cloud, And in the blushes that make holy eve's Enrapturing closing, and in every hue That mingle in the rainbow, in the mild And tender solace of the chaster moon, And in the glowing stars, thy presence beams Ineffable. But 'tis not only here,
Upon this outward world, thy glory falls: Does not the stirring spirit of mean man, That inward world of never dying things When thy Eternal light pervadeth it, Sparkle more gloriously? and hath it not A beauty more transcendent, lovely, bright,
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