With eafe, and is at large. The oppreffor holds
His body bound; but knows not what a range
His fpirit takes, unconscious of a chain;
And that to bind him is a vain attempt
Whom God delights in, and in whom he dwells.
Acquaint thyfelf with God, if thou wouldeft tafte His works. Admitted once to his embrace, Thou shalt perceive that thou waft blind before: Thine eye shall be inftructed; and thine heart Made pure fhall relish, with divine delight
"Till then unfelt, what hands divine have wrought. Brutes graze the mountain-top, with faces prone And eyes intent upon the scanty herb,
It yields them; or recumbent on its brow
Ruminate heedlefs of the scene outspread
Beneath, beyond, and stretching far away
From inland regions to the diftant main.
Man views it, and admires; but refts content
With what he views. The landscape has his praise,
But not its author. Unconcerned who formed
The paradife he fees, he finds it fuch,
And fuch well-pleafed to find it, asks no more.
Not fo the mind, that has been touched from heaven, And in the school of facred wisdom taught
To read his wonders, in whose thought the world,
Fair as it is, exifted ere it was.
Not for its own fake merely, but for his
Much more, who fashioned it, he gives it praise;
Praise that from earth refulting, as it ought,
To earth's acknowledged fovereign, finds at once
Its only juft proprietor in Him.
The foul that fees him, or receives fublimed
New faculties, or learns at least to employ
More worthily the powers the owned before,
Difcerns in all things what, with ftupid gaze
Of ignorance, till then the overlooked,
A ray of heavenly light, gilding all forms
Terreftrial in the vast and the minute;
The unambiguous footsteps of the God,
Who gives its luftre to an infect's wing,
And wheels his throne upon the rolling worlds.
Much converfant with heaven, she often holds
With those fair minifters of light to man,
That fill the fkies nightly with filent pomp,
Sweet conference. Inquires what strains were they With which heaven rang, when every star, in hafte To gratulate the new-created earth,
Sent forth a voice, and all the fons of God Shouted for joy." Tell me, ye shining hofts, "That navigate a fea that knows no ftorms, “Beneath a vault unsullied with a cloud,
"If from your elevation, whence ye view "Diftinctly scenes invifible to man, "And fyftems, of whose birth no tidings yet "Have reached this nether world, ye fpy a race "Favoured as our's; tranfgreffors from the womb, "And hafting to a grave, yet doomed to rise, "And to poffefs a brighter heaven than your's? "As one, who long detained on foreign fhores, "Pants to return, and when he fees afar
"His country's weather-bleached and battered rocks,
"From the green wave emerging, darts an eye
"Radiant with joy towards the happy land;
"So I with animated hopes behold,
"And many an aching with, your beamy fires,
"That show like beacons in the blue abyss,
"Ordained to guide the embodied spirit home
"From toilfome life to never-ending reft.
"Love kindles as 1 gaze. I feel defires,
"That give affurance of their own fuccefs,
"And that infused from heaven must thither tend."
So reads he nature, whom the lamp of truth
Illuminates. Thy lamp, myfterious word!
Which whofo fees no longer wanders loft,
With intellects bemazed in endless doubt,
But runs the road of wisdom. Thou haft built
that were not till by thee employed, Worlds, that had never been hadft thou in ftrength
Been lefs, or less benevolent than ftrong.
They are thy witneffes, who speak thy power
And goodness infinite, but speak in ears,
That hear not, or receive not their report.
In vain thy creatures teftify of thee,
Till thou proclaim thyfelf. Their's is indeed
A teaching voice; but 'tis the praise of thine,
That whom it teaches it makes prompt to learn,
And with the boon gives talents for its use.
Till thou art heard, imaginations vain
Poffefs the heart, and fables falfe as hell;
Yet, deemed oracular, lure down to death
The uninformed and heedlefs fouls of men.
We give to chance, blind chance, ourselves as blind,
The glory of thy work; which yet appears
Perfect and unimpeachable of blame,
Challenging human fcrutiny, and proved
Then skilful moft when moft severely judged.
But chance is not; or is not where thou reigneft:
Thy providence forbids that fickle power
(If power she be that works but to confound)
To mix her wild vagaries with thy laws.
Yet thus we dote, refufing while we can
Inftruction, and inventing to ourselves
Gods fuch as guilt makes welcome; gods that fleep,
Or difregard our follies, or that fit
Amufed fpectators of this bustling stage.
Thee we reject, unable to abide
Thy purity, till pure as thou art pure,
Made fuch by thee, we love thee for that caufe
For which we fhunned and hated thee before.
Then we are free. Then liberty, like day,
Breaks on the foul, and by a flash from heaven
Fires all the faculties with glorious joy.
A voice is heard, that mortal ears hear not
Till thou haft touched them; 'tis the voice of fong,
A loud Hofanna fent from all thy works;
Which he that hears it with a fhout repeats,
And adds his rapture to the general praise.
In that bleft moment Nature, throwing wide
Her veil opaque, difclofes with a smile
The author of her beauties, who, retired
Behind his own creation, works unfeen
By the impure, and hears his power denied.
Thou art the fource and centre of all minds,
Their only point of reft, eternal Word!
From thee departing they are loft, and rove
At random without honour, hope, or peace.
From thee is all, that fooths the life of man,
His high endeavour, and his glad fuccefs,
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