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Of his prophetic seers, such deeds he wrought
Before the' astonish'd sun's all-seeing eye,
That faith was scarce a virtue? Need I sing
The fate of Pharaoh and his numerous band
Lost in the reflux of the watry walls,
That melted to their fluid state again?
Need I recount how Samson's warlike arm

With more than mortal nerves was strung, to' o'er-
Idolatrous Philistia! shall I tell

[throw How David triumph'd, and what Job sustain'd? -But, O supreme, unutterable mercy!

O love unequall'd, mystery immense,

Which angels long to' unfold! 'tis man's redemption
That crowns thy glory, and thy power confirms,
Confirms the great, the' uncontroverted claim.
When from the virgin's unpolluted womb,
Shone forth the Sun of righteousness reveal'd,
And on benighted reason pour'd the day;
"Let there be peace," he said; and all was calm
Amongst the warring world—calm as the sea,
When peace: "Be still, ye boisterous winds," he


And not a breath was blown, nor murmur heard. His was a life of miracles and might,

And charity and love, ere yet he taste

The bitter draught of death, ere yet he rise
Victorious o'er the universal foe,

And death, and sin, and hell, in triumph lead.
His by the right of conquest is mankind,
And in sweet servitude and golden bonds
Were tied to him for ever.-O how easy
Is his ungalling yoke, and all his burdens
'Tis ecstacy to bear! him, blessed Shepherd,
His flocks shall follow through the maze of life,

And shades that tend to day-spring from on high;
And as the radiant roses, ever fading,

In fuller foilage and more fragrant breath
Revive in smiling spring, so shall it fare

With those that love him-for sweet is their savour,
And all eternity shall be their spring.
Then shall the gates and everlasting doors,
At which the King of glory enters in,

Be to the saints unbarr'd: and there, where pleasure
Boasts an undying bloom, where dubious hope
Is certainty, and grief-attended love

Is freed from passion-there we'll celebrate
With worthier numbers, him, who is, and was,
And in immortal prowess, King of kings,
Shall be the Monarch of all worlds for ever!




ORPHEUS, for so the Gentiles call'd thy name,*
Israel's sweet Psalmist, who alone could wake
The' inanimate to motion; who alone
The joyful hillocks, the applauding rocks,
And floods with musical persuasion drew:
Thou who to hail and snow gav'st voice and sound,
And mad'st the mute melodious!-greater yet
Was thy divinest skill, and rul'd o'er more

❤See this conjecture strongly supported by Delany, in his Lifə of David.

Than art or nature; for thy tuneful touch
Drove trembling Satan from the heart of Saul,
And quell'd the evil angel:-in this breast
Some portion of thy genuine spirit breathe,
And lift me from myself, each thought impure
Banish each low idea raise, refine,
Enlarge, and sanctify; so shall the muse
Above the stars aspire, and aim to praise
Her God on earth, as he is prais'd in heaven.
Immense Creator! whose all-powerful hand
Fram'd universal being, and whose eye

Saw like thyself, that all things form'd were good;
Where shall the timorous bard thy praise begin,
Where end the purest sacrifice of song.

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And just thanksgiving?-The thought-kindling light,
Thy prime production, darts upon my mind
Its vivifying beams, my heart illumines,
And fills my soul with gratitude and thee!
Hail to the cheerful rays of ruddy morn,
That paint the streaky east, and blithsome rouse
The birds, the cattle, and mankind from rest!
Hail to the freshness of the early breeze,
And Iris dancing on the new-fall'n dew!
Without the aid of yonder golden globe,
Lost were the garnet's lustre, lost the lily,
The tulip, and auricula's spotted pride;
Lost were the peacock's plumage, to the sight
So pleasing in its pomp and glossy glow,
O thrice illustrious! were it not for thee,
Those pansies that, reclining from the bank,
View through the' immaculate, pellucid stream,
Their portraiture in the inverted heaven,
Might as well change their triple boast the white,
The purple, and the gold, that far outvie

The eastern monarch's garb, ev'n with the dock,
Ev'n with the baneful hemlock's irksome green.
Without thy aid, without thy gladsome beams,
The tribes of woodland warblers would remain
Mute on the bending branches, nor recite

The praise of him, who, ere he form'd their lord,
Their voices tun'd to transport, wing'd their flight,
And bade them call for nurture, and receive;
And lo! they call; the blackbird and the thrush,
The woodlark, and the redbreast jointly call;
He hears and feeds their feather'd families,
He feeds his sweet musicians-nor neglects
The' invoking ravens in the greenwood wide:
And though their throats coarse ruttling hurt the ear
They mean it all for music, thanks and praise
They mean, and leave ingratitude to man ;-
But not to all-for hark! the organs blow
Their swelling notes round the cathedral's dome,
And grace the' harmonious choir, celestial feast
To pious ears, and med'cine of the mind;
The thrilling trebles and the manly bass
Join in accordance meet, and with one voice
All to the sacred subject suit their song:
While in each breast sweet melancholy reigns
Angelically pensive, till the joy

Improves and purifies;-the solemn scene
The sun through storied panes surveys with awe,
And bashfully withholds each bolder beam,
Here, as her home, from morn to eve frequents
The cherub gratitude,-behold her eyes!
With love and gladness weepingly they shed
Ecstatic smiles; the incense, that her hands
Uprear, is sweeter than the breath of May
Caught from the nectarine's blossom, and her voice
E e


Is more than voice can tell; to him she sings, To him who feeds, who clothes, and who adorns, Who made and who preserves whatever dwells In air, in steadfast earth, or fickle sea.

O he is good, he is immensely good!

Who all things form'd, and form'd them all for man;
Who mark'd the climates, varied every zone,
Dispensing all his blessings for the best,
In order and in beauty :-raise, attend,
Attest, and praise, ye quarters of the world!
Bow down, ye elephants, submissive bow

To him, who made the mite; though, Asia's pride,
Ye carry armies on your tower-crown'd backs,
And grace the turban'd tyrants, bow to Him
Who is as great, as perfect, and as good
In his less striking wonders, till at length
The eye's at fault, and seeks the' assisting glass.
Approach and bring from Araby the bless'd
The fragrant cassia, frankincense, and myrrh,
And meekly kneeling at the altar's foot,
Lay all the tributary incense down.
Stoop, sable Africa, with reverence stoop,
And from thy brow take off the painted plume;
With golden ingots all thy camels load
To adorn his temples, hasten with thy spear
Reverted, and thy trusty bow unstrung,
While unpursued the lions roam and roar,
And ruin'd towers, rude rocks, and caverns wide,
Remurmur to the glorious, surly sound.

And thou, fair India, whose immense domain
To counterpoise the hemisphere extends,

Haste from the west, and with thy fruits and flow'rs,
Thy mines and med'cines, wealthy maid, attend.
More than the plenteousness so fam'd to flow

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