LXIX. ADDRESS TO THE DEITY. ATHER of light, exhaustless source of good! Supreme, eternal, self-existent GOD!

FATHER

Before the beamy sun dispens'd a ray,

Flam'd in the azure vault, and gave the day,
Before the glimmering moon with borrow'd light,
Shone queen amid the silver host of night,
High in the heavens, thou reign'st superior Lord,
By suppliant angels worshipp'd and ador'd.
With the celestial choir then let me join,
In cheerful praises to the Power Divine.
To sing thy praise, do thou, O God! inspire
A mortal breast with more than mortal fire.
In dreadful majesty thou sitt'st enthron'd,
With light encircled and with glory crown'd:
Through all infinitude extends thy reign,

For thee nor heaven, nor heaven of heavens contain;
But though thy throne is fix'd above the sky,

Thy omnipresence fills immensity.

Saints rob'd in white, to thee their anthems bring,.

And radiant martyrs hallelujahs sing:

Heav'n's universal host their voices raise

In one eternal concert to thy praise;

And round thy awful throne, with one accord,
Sing, holy, holy, holy is the Lord.

At thy creative voice from ancient night,
Sprang smiling beauty, and yon worlds of light
Thou spak'st-the planetary chorus roll'd,
Stupendous worlds! unmeasured and untold!
Let there be light, said God-light instant shone,
And from the orient burst the golden sun;
Heav'n's gazing hierarchs, with glad surprize,
Saw the first morn invest the recent skies,

And strait the exulting troops thy throne surround,
With thousand, thousand harps of rapt'rous sound;
Thrones, powers, dominions (ever-shining trains!
Shouted thy praises in triumphant strains;
Great are thy works, they sing, and all around,
Great are thy works, the echoing heav'ns resound.
Th' effulgent sun unsufferably bright,

Is but a ray of thy o'erflowing light;

The tempest is thy breath; the thunder hurl'd
Tremendous roars thy vengeance o'er the world;
Thou bow'st the Heav'ns, the smoky mountains nod,
Rocks fall to dust, and nature owns her God!
Pale tyrants shrink, the Atheist stands aghast,
And impious kings in horror breathe their last.
To this great God, alternately I'd pay,
The evening anthem and the morning lay.

LXX. A MORNING HYMN.

For de nishtown form, mysterious sleep,

ROM night, from silence, and from death,

I wake to life, to light and health;
Thus me doth Israel's Watchman keep.
Sacred to him in grateful praise,
Be this devoted tranquil hour,
While him supremely good and great,
With rapt'rous homage I adore.
What music breaks from yonder copse?
The plumy songsters' artless lay;
Melodious songsters, nature taught!
That warbling hail the dawning-day.
Shall man be mute while instinct sings?
Nor human breast with transports rise?
O! for an universal hymn,

To join in chorus of the skies!
See yon refulgent lamp of day,
With unabating glory crown'd,
Rejoicing in his giant strength,
To run his daily destin'd round.
So may I still perform thy will,
Great Sun of Nature and of Grace!
Nor wander devious from thy law;
Nor faint in my appointed race.

What charms display the unfolding flowers!
How beauteous glows the enamell'd mead!
More beauteous still the heaven-wrought robe,
Of purest white and fac'd with red.
The sun exhales the pearly dews,

Those brilliant sky-shed tears that mourn
His nightly loss; till from earth's cheek

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They're kiss'd away by pitying morn.
For laps'd mankind what friendly tears,
Bent on our weal did angels shed!
Bound, bound our hearts, to think those tears
Made frustrate all when Jesus bled.
Arabia wafts from yonder grove
Delicious odours in the gale;

And with her breeze-born fragrance greets
Each circumjacent hill and dale:
As incense may my morning song,
A sweetly smelling savour rise,
Perfum'd with Gilead's precious balm,
To make it grateful to the skies.

And when from death's long sleep I wake,
To nature's renovating day,

Clothe me with thy own righteousness,

And in thy likeness, Lord, array.

LXXI. HYMN TO PEACE.

AIL, sacred Peace; who claim'st thy bright abode 'Midst circling saints that grace the throne of God. Before his arm around this shapeless earth

Stretched the wide heavens, and gave to nature birth ;
Ere morning stars his glowing chambers hung,
Or songs of gladness woke an angel's tongue;
Veil'd in the brightness of th' Almighty's mind,
In blest repose thy placid form reclin'd;
Borne through the heaven with his creating voice,
Thy presence bade the unfolding worlds rejoice,
Gave to seraphic harps their sounding lays,
Their joy to angels, and to men their praise.

From scenes of blood these beauteous shores that stain,
From gasping friends that press the sanguin'd plain,
From fields, long taught in vain thy flight to mourn,
I rise, delightful power, and greet thy glad return.
Too long the groans of death and battle's bray,
Have rung, discordant thro' th' unpleasing lay;
Let pity's tear its balmy fragrance shed,.
O'er heroes' wounds, and patriot warriors dead,
Accept, departed shades, these grateful sighs,
Your fond attendants to th' approving skies.

But now the untuneful trump shall grate no more,
Ye silver streams, no longer swell with gore;
Bear from your beauteous banks the crimson stain,
With yon retiring navies to the main:

While other views unfolding on my eyes,
And happier themes bid bolder numbers rise.
Bring, bounteous peace, in thy celestial throng,
Life to my soul and rapture to my song;
Give me to trace with pure unclouded ray,
The arts and virtues that attend thy sway;
To see thy blissful charms that here descend,
Thro' distant realms and endless years extend.

LXXII. Scene between CECILIA BEVERLY and HENRIETTA BELFIELD.

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Cecilia. My dear Henrietta, you seem to be overjoyed;

May I know the cause?

Henrietta. My dear, dear Miss Beverly, I have such a thing to tell you-you would never guess it-I don't know how to believe it myself-Mr. Delvill has written to me! he has indeed! here is the note! [holding out a letter.]

Cec. Indeed! I long to know the contents. Pray read it. Hen-Reads it]

"To MISS BELFIELD,

"Mr. Delvill presents his compliments to Miss Belfield, and begs to be permitted to wait on her for a few minutes, at any time in the afternoon she will please to appoint."

Only think! it is me, poor simple me, of all the people, that he wants to speak with. But what can he want? My dearest Cecilia tell what you think he can have to say to me? Gec. Indeed it is impossible for me to conjecture.

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Hen. If can't I am sure there is no wonder I can't. I have thought of a million things in a minute. It can't be about business-It can't be about my brother-It can't be about my dear Miss Beverly-I suspect-[a servant enters with a message.]

Ser. A gentleman in the parlour desires to speak with Miss Belfield. [Servant goes out.] Hen. My dear Miss Beverly, what shall I say to him? Pray advise me, I am so confused I can't say a single word

Cec. I can't advise you, Miss Belfield, for I don't know what he will say to you.

Hen. But I can guess, I can guess! And I shan't know what in the world to answer. I shall behave like a simpleton and disgrace myself.

[Cecilia leaves her and Mr. Delvill enters the room.]

Delvill. Good-morrow, Miss Belfield. I hope I have the pleasure to see you well to-day. Is Miss Beverly at home? I have a message for her from my mother.

Hen. [With a look of disappointment.] Yes, sir, she is at home. I will call her.

(Cecilia enters.)

[Goes out.]

Delv. Good morrow, Madam, I have presumed to wait on you this morning, by permission of my mother. But I am afraid that permission is so late, that the influence I hoped from it is past.

Cec. I had no means, Sir, of knowing you came from her, otherwise I should have received her commands without hesitation.

Delu. I would thank you for the honour you do her, was it less pointedly exclusive. Yet I have no right to reproach you. Let me ask Madam, could you, after my solemn promise at our last parting, to renounce all future claim upon you, in obedience to my mother's will, could you think me so dishonourable as to obtrude myself into your presence, while that promise was in force?

Cec. I find I have been too hasty. I did indeed believe Mrs. Delvill would never authorize such a visit; but as I was much surprised, I hope I may be pardoned for a little doubt.

Delv. There spoke Miss Beverly! the same, the unaltered Miss Beverly I hoped to find. Yet is she altered? Am I not too hasty? And is the story I have heard about Belfield a dream? an error, a falsehood?

Cee. If it was not that such a quick succession of quarrels would be endless perplexity, I would be affronted that you can ask me such a question.

Delv. Had I thought it a question, I should not have asked it. But never for a moment did I credit it, till the rigour of your repulse alarmed me. But as you are good enough to account for that, I am encouraged to make known the design of my present visit. Yet with confidence I cannot speak; hardly with hope.