class="v">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 Heaven

Th’ impetuous song, and say from 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 humid 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 flowers,

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 low,

Ye valleys, raise; for the Great Shepherd reigns,

And his unsuff’ring 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 listening shades, and teach the night His praise!

Ye chief, for whom the whole creation smiles,

At once the head, the heart, the 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 bass;

And, as each mingling flame increases each,

In one united ardour rise to heaven.

Or, if you rather choose the rural shade,

And find a fane in every 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 blackening east,

Be my tongue mute, may fancy paint no more,

And, dead to joy, forget my heart to beat!

Should fate command me to the farthest verge

Of the green earth, to distant barbarous climes,

Rivers unknown to song, where first the sun

Gilds Indian mountains, or his setting beam

Flames on th’ Atlantic isles, ’tis naught to me,

Since God is ever present, ever felt,

In the void waste as in the city full;

And where He vital spreads there must be joy.

When even at last the solemn hour shall come,

And wing my mystic flight to future worlds,

I cheerful will obey; there, with new powers,

Will rising wonders sing: I cannot go

Where Universal Love not smiles around,

Sustaining all yon orbs, and all their sons;

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.

Hymn To God’s Power

Hail! Power Divine, who by thy sole command,

From the dark empty space,

Made the broad sea and solid land

Smile with a heavenly grace.

Made the high mountain and firm rock,

Where bleating cattle stray;

And the strong, stately, spreading oak,

That intercepts the day.

The rolling planets thou madest move,

By thy effective will;

And the revolving globes above

Their destined cours fulfil.

His mighty power, ye thunders, praise,

As through the heavens ye roll;

And his great name, ye lightnings, blaze,

Unto the distant pole.

Ye seas, in your eternal roar,

His sacred praise proclaim;

While the inactive sluggish shore

Re-echoes to the same.

Ye howling winds, howl out his praise,

And make the forests bow;

While through the air, the earth, and seas,

His solemn praise ye blow.

O yon high harmonious spheres,

Your powerful mover sing;

To him your circling course that steers,

Your tuneful praises bring.

Ungrateful mortals, catch the sound,

And in your numerous lays,

To all the listening world around,

The God of nature praise.

Hymn on Solitude

Hail, mildly pleasing solitude,

Companion of the wise and good;

But, from whose holy, piercing eye,

The herd of fools, and villains fly.

Oh! how I love with thee to walk,

And listen to thy whisper’d talk,

Which innocence, and truth imparts,

And melts the most obdurate hearts.

A thousand shapes you wear with ease,

And still in every shape you please.

Now wrapt in some mysterious dream,

A lone philosopher you seem;

Now quick from hill to vale you fly,

And now you sweep the