With what he views. The landscape has his praise, But not its author. Unconcern'd who form'd The paradise he sees, he finds it such, And such well-pleas'd to find it, asks no more. Not so the mind that has been touch'd from heav'n, And in the school of sacred wisdom taught To read his wonders, in whose thought the world, Fair as it is, existed ere it was. Not for its own sake merely, but for his Much more who fashion'd it, he gives it praise; The soul that sees him, or receives sublim'd The unambiguous footsteps of the God With those fair ministers of light to man, Sent forth a voice, and all the sons of God Shouted for joy.-" Tell me, ye shining hosts, 66 That navigate a sea that knows no storms, "Beneath a vault unsullied with a cloud, " If from your elevation, whence 66 ye Distinctly scenes invisible to man, view "And systems of whose birth no tidings yet "Have reach'd this nether world, ye spy a race "Favour'd as our's; transgressors from the womb, "And hasting to a grave, yet doom'd to rise, "And to possess a brighter heav'n than your's? "As one who long detain'd on foreign shores "Pants to return, and when he sees afar His country's weather-bleach'd and batter'd rocks, "From the green wave emerging, darts an eye "Radiant with joy towards the happy land; So I with animated hopes behold, "And many an aching wish, your beamy fires, "That show like beacons in the blue abyss, "Ordain'd to guide th' embodied spirit home "From toilsome life to never-ending rest. "Love kindles as I gaze. I feel desires "That give assurance of their own success, "And that, infus'd from heav'n, must thither tend.” So reads he nature whom the lamp of truth IHuminates. Thy lamp, mysterious word! Which whoso sees no longer wanders lost, But runs the road of wisdom. Thou hast built, With means that were not till by thee employ'd, Worlds that had never been hadst thou in strength Been less, or less benevolent than strong. They are thy witnesses, who speak thy pow'r And goodness infinite, but speak in ears Till thou proclaim thyself. Their's is indeed Possess the heart, and fables false as hell; Yet, deem'd oracular, lure down to death The uninform'd and heedless souls of men.. We give to chance, blind chance, ourselves as blind, The glory of thy work; which yet appears Perfect and unimpeachable of blame, Challenging human scrutiny, and prov'd Then skilful most when most severely judg❜d. But chance is not; or is not where thou reign'st: Thy providence forbids that fickle pow'r (If pow'r she be that works but to confound) To mix her wild vagaries with thy laws. Yet thus we dote, refusing while we can Gods such as guilt makes welcome; gods that sleep, Amus'd spectators of this bustling stage. Thee we reject, unable to abide Thy purity, till pure as thou art pure; Made such by thee, we love thee for that cause For which we shunn'd and hated thee before. Then we are free. Then liberty, like day, Breaks on the soul, and by a flash from heav'n Fires all the faculties with glorious joy. A voice is heard that mortal ears hear not Till thou hast touch'd them; 'tis the voice of song A loud hosanna sent from all thy works; |