In that blest moment Nature, throwing wide
Her veil opaque, discloses with a smile

The author of her beauties, who, retir'd
Behind his own creation, works unseen
By the impure, and hears his pow'r denied.
Thou art the source and centre of all minds,
Their only point of rest, eternal Word!

From thee departing, they are lost, and rove
At random, without honour, hope, or peace.
From thee is all that sooths the life of man,
His high endeavour, and his glad success,
His strength to suffer, and his will to serve.
But oh thou bounteous giver of all good,
Thou art of all thy gifts thyself the crown!
Give what thou canst, without thee we are poor;
And with thee rich, take what thou wilt away.

THE TASK.

BOOK VI.

ARGUMENT OF THE SIXTH BOOK.

Bells at a distance. Their effect.-A fine noon in winter. A sheltered walk.-Meditation better than books.—Our familiarity with the course of nature makes it appear less wonderful than it is.—The transformation that spring effects in a shrubbery described. A mistake concerning the course of nature corrected.-God maintains it by an unremitted act. -The amusements fashionable at this hour of the day reproved.-Animals happy, a delightful sight.— Origin of cruelty to animals.-That it is a great crime proved from scripture.-That proof illustrated by a tale.-A line drawn between the lawful and unlawful destruction of them.-Their good and useful properties insisted on.-Apology for the encomiums bestowed by the author on animals. -Instances of man's extravagant praise of man.-The groans of the creation shall have an end.-A view taken of the restoration of all things.-An invocation and an invitation of him who shall bring it to pass.-The retired man vindicated from the charge of uselessness.Conclusion.

THE TA S K.

BOOK VI.

THE WINTER WALK AT NOON.

THERE is in souls a sympathy with sounds;
And, as the mind is pitch'd, the ear is pleas'd
With melting airs, or martial, brisk, or grave:
Some chord in unison with what we hear

Is touch'd within us, and the heart replies.
How soft the music of those village bells,
Falling at intervals upon the ear

In cadence sweet, now dying all away,
Now pealing loud again, and louder still,

Clear and sonorous, as the gale comes on!

With easy force it opens all the cells

Where mem'ry slept. Wherever I have heard A kindred melody, the scene recurs,