Ye angels, catch the thrilling sound!
While all the adoring thrones around
His boundless mercy sing:
Let ev'ry list'ning saint above
Wake all the tuneful soul of love,
And touch the sweetest string.
Join, ye loud spheres, the vocal choir;
Thou dazzling orb of liquid fire,
The mighty chorus aid:
Soon as gray evening gilds the plain,
Thou, moon, protract the melting strain,
And praise him in the shade.
Thou heav'n of heav’os, his vast abode;
Ye clouds, proclaim your forming God,
Who call'd yon worlds from night:
"Ye shades, dispel !"-the Eternal said;
At once the involving darkness fled,
And nature sprung to light.
Whatever a blooming world contains,
That wings the air, that skims the plains,
United praise bestow :
Ye dragons, sound his awful name
To heaven aloud; and roar acclaim,
Ye swelling deeps below.
Let ev'ry element rejoice;
Ye thunders burst with awful voice
TO HIM who bids you roll :
His praise in softer notes declare,
Each whispering breeze of yielding air,
And breath it to the soul.
To him, ye graceful cedars, bow,
Ye tow'ring mountains, bending low,
Your great Creator own;
Tell, when affrighted nature shook,
How Sinai kindled at his look,
And trembled at his frown.
Ye flocks that haurt the humble vale,
Ye insects flutt'ring on the gale.
In mutual concourse rise;
Crop the gay roses vermeil bloom,
And waft its spoils, a sweet perfume;
In incense to the skies.
Wake, all ye mountain tribes, and sing;
Ye plumy warblers of the spring,
Harmonious anthems raise
TO HIM who shap'd your finer mould,
Who tipp'd your glittering wings with gold,
And tun'd your voice to praise.
Let man, by nobler passions sway'd,
The feeling heart, the judging head,
In heav'nly praise employ;
Spread his tremendous name around,
Till heaven's broad arch rings back the sound,
The general burst of joy
Ye whom the charms of grandeur please,
Nurs'd on the downy lap of ease,
Fall prostrate at his throne:
Ye princes, rulers, all adore;
Praise him, ye kings, who makes your power
An image of his own.
Ye fair, by nature form'd to move,
O praise the eternal SOURCE OF LOVE,
With youth's enliv'ning fire:
Let age take up the tuneful lay,
Sigh his bless'd name-then soar away,
And ask an angel's lyre.
SECTION XV.
The universal prayer.
FATHER OF ALL! in ev'ry age,
In ev'ry clime ador'd,
By saint, by savage, and by sage,
Jehovah, Jove, or Lord!
Thou GREAT FIRST CAUSE, least understood,
Who all my sense confin'd
To know but this, that thou art good,
And that myself am blind;
Yet gave me, in this dark estate,
To see the good from ill;
And binding nature fast in fate,
Left free the human will.
What conscience dictates to be done,
Or warns me not to do,
This teach me more than hell to shun,
That more than heav'n pursue.
What blessings thy free bounty gives,
Let me not cast away;
For Goa is paid, when man receives :
T' enjoy is to obey.
Yet not to earth's contracted span
Thy goodness let me bound,
Or think thee Lord alone of man,
When thousand worlds are round.
Let not this weak, unknowing hand
Presume thy bolts to throw ;
And deal damnation round the land,
On each I judge thy foe.
If I am right, thy grace impart,
Still in the right to stay;
If I am wrong, oh teach my heart
To find that better way.
Save me alike from foolish pride,
Or impious discontent,
At aught thy wisdom has denied,
Or aught thy goodness lent.
Teach me to feel another's wo,
To hide the fault I see ;
That mercy I to others show,
That mercy show to me.
Mean tho I am, not wholly so,
Since quicken'd by thy breath;
O lead me wheresoe'er I go,
Thro, this day's life or death!
This day, be bread and peace my lot:
All else beneath the sun
Thou know'st if best bestow'd or not,
And let thy will be done.
To thee, whose temple is all space,
Whose altar, earth, sea, skies!
One chorus let all beings raise !
All nature's incense rise.
O treach❜rous Conscience! while she seems to sleep
On rose and myrtle, lull'd with siren song;
While she seems, nodding o'er her charge, to drop
On headlong appetite the slacken'd rein,
And give us up to license, unrecall'd,
Unmark'd-see, from behind her secret stand,
The sly informer minutes every fault,
And her dread diary with horror fills.
Not the gross act alone employs her pen;
She reconnoitres fancy's airy bard.
A watchful foe! the formidable spy,
List'ning, o'erhears the whispers of our camp ;
Our dawning purposes of heart explores,
And steals our embryos of iniquity.
As all-rapacious usurers conceal
Their doomsday book from all-consuming heirs ;
Thus, with indulgence most severe, she treats
Us spendthrifts of inestimable time;
Unnoted, notes each moment nisapply'd;
In leaves more durable than leaves of brass,
Writes our whole history; which death shall read
In ev'ry pale delinquent's private ear;
And judgment publish; publish to more worlds
Than this; and endless age in groans resound.
SECTION XVII.
On an infant.
To the dark and silent tomb,
Soon I hasted from the womb;
Scarce the dawn of life began,
Ere I measur'd out my span.
I no smiling pleasures knew ;
I no gay delights could view ;
Jovless sojourner was I,
Only born to weep and die.-
Happy infant, early bless'd!
Rest in peaceful slumbers, rest;
Early rescu'd from the cares,
Which increase with growing years.
No delights are worth thy stay,
Smiling as they seem, and gay;
Short and sickly are they all,
Hardly tasted ere they pall.
All our gaiety is vain,
All our laughter is but pain:
Lasting only, and divine,
Is an innocence like thine.
SECTION XVIII.
The cuckoo.
HAIL, beauteous stranger of the wood,
Attendant on the spring!
Now heav'n repairs thy rural seat,
And woods thy welcome sing.
Soon as the daisy decks the green,
Thy certain voice we hear :
Hast thou a star to guide thy path,
Or mark the rolling year?
Delightful visitant ! with thee
I hail the time of flow'rs,
When heav'n is fill'd with music sweet
Of birds among the bow'rs.
The school-boy, wand'ring in the wood,
To pull the flow rs so gay,
Starts, thy curious voice to hear,
And imitates thy lay.
Soon as the pea puts on the bloom,
Thou fly st thy vocal vale,
An annual guest, in other lands,
Another spring to hail.
Sweet bird thy bow'r is ever green;
Thy sky is ever clear;
Thou hast no sorrow in thy song,
No winter in thy year!
O could I fly, I'd fly with thee :
We'd make, with social wing,
Our annual visit o'er the globe,
Companions of the spring.
Day. A pastoral, in three parts,
Morning.
In the barn the tenant cock,
Close to Partlet perch'd on high,
Briskly crows, [the shepherd's clock !]
Jocund that the morning's nigh.
Swiftly from the mountain's brow,
Shadows, nurs'd by night retire;
And the peeping sun-beam now
Paints with gold the village spire.
Philomel forsakes the thorn,
Plaintive where she prates at night;
And the lark, to meet the morn,
Soars beyond the shepherd's sight.
From the low-roof'd cottage ridge,
See the chatt ring swallow spring:
Darting through the one-arch'd bridge,
Quick she dips her dappled wing.
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