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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 soft'ning into shade : And all so forming an harmonious whole, That, as they still succeed, they ravish still. But wand'ring oft; with brute unconscious gaze, Man marks not Thee, marks not the mighty hand That, ever busy, wheels the silent spheres ; Works in the secret deep: shoots, steaming, thence The fair profusion that o'erspreads the Spring ; Flings from the sun direct the flaming day; Feeds ev'ry creature; hurls the tempest forth; And, as on earth this grateful change revolves, With transport touches all the springs of life.

Nature attend! join ev'ry living soul Beneath the spacious temple of the sky, In adoration join; and ardent, raise One gen'ral song! To Him, ye vocal gales, Breathe soft, whose Spirit in your freshness breathes o 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, Who shake th' astonish'd world, lift high to heav'n

Th' impetuous song, and say for whom 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; Ye softer floods, that lead the human 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. Soft roll your incense, herbs, and fruits, and flow'rs, In mingled clouds to him, whose sun exalts, Whose breath perfumes you, and whose pencil

paints. Ye forests, bend; ye harvests, wave to him; Breathe your still song into the reaper's heart, 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 source 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: While cloud to cloud returns the solemn hymn. Bleat out afresh, ye hills; ye mossy rocks,

Retain the sound: the broad responsive lowe, Ye valleys, raise; for the Great Shepherd 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 list’ning shades, and teach the night his praise. 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, At solemn pauses, through the swelling hase; And as each mingling flame increases each, In one united ardor rise to heaven. Or if you rather choose the rural shade. And find a fane in ev'ry sacred grove; There let the shepherd's flute, the virgin's lay, The prompting seraph, and the poet's lyre, Still sing the God of Seasons as they roll. For me, when I forget the darling theme, Whether the blossom blows, the Summer-ray Russets the plain, inspiring Autumn gleams, Or Winter rises in the black’ning east; Be

my tongue mute, my fancy paint no more, And, dead to joy, forget my heart to beat!

Should fale command me to the farthest verge Of the green earth, to distant barb'rous climes, Rivers unknown to song; where first the sun Gilds Indian mountains, or his setting beam Flames on th’ Atlantic isles; 'tis nought to me:. Since God is ever present, ever felt, In the void waste as in the city full; And where he vital breathes, there must be joya. When ev'n at last the solemn hour shall come, And wing my mystic flight to future worlds, I cheerful will obey: there with new pow'rs, Will rising wonders sing. I cannot go Where Universal Love not smiles around, Sustaining all your orbs, and all their suns, From seeming evil still educing good, And better thence again, and better still, In infinite progression. But I lose Myself in him, in Light INEFFABLE! Come then, expressive silence, muse his praise.




SOON as the morning trembles o'er the sky
And unperceiv'd, unfolds the spreading day;
Before the ripen'd field the reapers stand,
In fair array; each by the lass he loves,
To bear the rougher part, and mitigate
By nameless gentle offices her toil.
At once they stoop and swell the lusty sheaves:
While through their cheerful band the rural talk
Flies harmless, to deceive the tedious time,
And steal, unfelt, the sultry hours away.
Behind the master walks, builds up the shocks;
And, conscious, glancing oft on ev'ry side
His sated eye, feels his heart heave with joy.
The gleaners spread around, and here and there,
Spike after spike, their scanty harvest pick.
Be not too narrow, husbandmen! but fling
From the full sheaf, with charitable stealth,
The lib'ral handful. Think, O grateful think!
How good the God of Harvest is to you ;
Who pours abundance o'er your flowing fields;

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