Happy to rove among poetic flow'rs,

Though poor in skill to rear them, lights at last
On some fair theme, some theme divinely fair,
Such is the impulse and the spur he feels

To give it praise proportion'd to its worth,
That not t' attempt it, arduous as he deems
The labour, were a task more arduous still.

Oh scenes surpassing fable, and yet true, Scenes of accomplish'd bliss! which who can see, Though but in distant prospect, and not feel His soul refresh'd with foretaste of the joy? Rivers of gladness water all the earth,

And clothe all climes with beauty; the reproach Of barrenness is past. The fruitful field

Laughs with abundance; and the land, once lean,
Or fertile only in its own disgrace,

Exults to see its thistly curse repeal'd.
The various seasons woven into one,

And that one season an eternal spring,

The garden fears no blight, and needs no fence, For there is none to covet, all are full.

The lion, and the libbard, and the bear

Graze with the fearless flocks; all bask at noon Together, or all gambol in the shade

Of the same grove, and drink one common stream. Antipathies are none. No foe to man

Lurks in the serpent now: the mother sees,
And smiles to see, her infant's playful hand
Stretch'd forth to dally with the crested worm,
To stroke his azure neck, or to receive

The lambent homage of his arrowy tongue.
All creatures worship man, and all mankind

One Lord, one Father. Error has no place:
That creeping pestilence is driv'n away;

The breath of heav'n has chas'd it. In the heart
No passion touches a discordant string,

But all is harmony and love. Disease

Is not: the pure and uncontam'nate blood
Holds its due course, nor fears the frost of

age.

One song employs all nations; and all cry,

Worthy the Lamb, for he was slain for us!" The dwellers in the vales and on the rocks

Shout to each other, and the mountain tops
From distant mountains catch the flying joy;
Till, nation after nation taught the strain,
Earth rolls the rapturous hosanna round.
Behold the measure of the promise fill'd;
See Salem built, the labour of a God!
Bright as a sun the sacred city shines;
All kingdoms and all princes of the earth
Flock to that light; the glory of all lands
Flows into her; unbounded is her joy,
And endless her increase. Thy rams are there,
* Nebaioth, and the flocks of Kedar there;
The looms of Ormus, and the mines of Ind,
And Saba's spicy groves, pay tribute there.

k Nebaioth and Kedar, the sons of Ishmael, and progenitors of the Arabs, in the prophetic scripture here alluded to, may be reasonably considered as representatives of the Gentiles at large.

Praise is in all her gates: upon her walls,

And in her streets, and in her spacious courts,

Is heard salvation. Eastern Java there

Kneels with the native of the farthest west;
And Æthiopia spreads abroad the hand,
And worships. Her report has travell❜d forth
Into all lands. From ev'ry clime they come
To see thy beauty and to share thy joy,
O Sion! an assembly such as earth

Saw never, such as heav'n stoops down to see.

Thus heav'n-ward all things tend. For all were

once

Perfect, and all must be at length restor❜d.
So God has greatly purpos'd; who would else
In his dishonour'd works himself endure
Dishonour, and be wrong'd without redress.
Haste, then, and wheel away a shatter'd world,
Ye slow-revolving seasons! we would see

(A sight to which our eyes are strangers yet)

A world that does not dread and hate his laws,

And suffer for its crime; would learn how fair The creature is that God pronounces good,

How pleasant in itself what pleases him.

How ev'ry drop of honey hides a sting;
Worms wind themselves into our sweetest flow'rs;
And ev❜n the joy that haply some poor heart
Derives from heav'n, pure as the fountain is,
Is sullied in the stream, taking a taint
From touch of human lips, at best impure.
Oh for a world in principle as chaste

As this is gross and selfish! over which
Custom and prejudice shall bear no sway,
That govern all things here, should'ring aside
The meek and modest truth, and forcing her
To seek a refuge from the tongue of strife
In nooks obscure, far from the ways of men:-
Where violence shall never lift the sword,

Nor cunning justify the proud man's wrong,

Leaving the poor no remedy but tears: