One general fong! To HIM, ye vocal gales,
Breathe foft, whofe SPIRIT in your freshness breathes;
Oh talk of HIM in folitary glooms!
Where, o'er the rock, the fcarcely waving pine
Fills the brown fhade with a religious awe.
And ye, whose bolder note is heard afar,
Who shake th' astonish'd world, lift high to heaven
Th' impetuous fong, and fay 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 fofter floods, that lead the humid maze
Along the vale; and thou, majestic main,
A fecret world of wonders in thyself,
Sound His ftupendous 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 HIм; whose fun exalts,
Whose breath perfumes you, and whose pencil paints.
Ye forefts bend, ye harvests wave, to HIM;
Breathe your ftill long into the reaper's heart,
As home he goes beneath the joyous moon.
Ye that keep watch in heaven, as earth asleep
Unconscious lies, effufe your mildest beams,
Ye conftellations, while your angels ftrike,
Amid the spangled fky, the filver lyre.
Great fource of day! beit 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 hufh'd the proftrate world;
While cloud to cloud returns the folemn hymn.
Bleat out afresh, ye hills, ye moffy rocks,
Retain the found: the broad refponfive lowe,
Ye valleys, raise; for the GREAT SHEPHERD reigns;
And his unfuffering kingdom yet will come.
Ye woodlands all, awake: a boundless fong
Burst from the groves! and when the restless day,
Expiring, lays the warbling world asleep,
Sweetest of birds! fweet Philomela ! charm
The listening shades, and teach the night His praise.
Ye chief, for whom the whole creation fmiles,
At once the head, the heart, and tongue of all,
Crown the great hymn! in fwarming cities vast,
Affembled men, to the deep organ join
The long-refounding voice, oft-breaking clear,
At folemn paufes, through the fwelling bafe;
And, as each mingling flame increases each,
In one united ardor rise to heaven.
rather chufe the rural shade,
There let the fhepherd's flute, the virgin's lay,
The prompting feraph, and the poet's lyre,
Still fing the GOD OF SEASONS, as they roll.
For me, when I forget the darling theme,
Whether the bloffom blows, the fummer-ray
Ruffets the plain, infpiring Autumn gleams;
Or Winter rises in the blackening eaft;
Be my tongue mute, my fancy paint no more,
And, dead to joy, forget my heart to beat!
Should fate command me to the fartheft verge Of the green earth, to distant barbarous climes, Rivers unknown to fong; where first the sun Gilds Indian mountains, or his fetting beam Flames on th' Atlantic ifles; 'tis nought to me: Since GOD is ever prefent, ever felt,
In the void waste as in the city full;
And where He vital breathes there must be joy.
When even at last the folemn hour shall come,
And wing my myftic flight to future worlds,
I cheerful will obey; there, with new powers,
Will rifing wonders fing: I cannot go
Where UNIVERSAL LOVE not fmiles around,
Sustaining all yon orbs, and all their fons;
From feeming Evil ftill educing Good,
And Better thence again, and Better still,
In infinite progreffion. But I lose
Myfelf in HIM, in LIGHT INEFFABLE;
Come then, expreffive filence, mufe His praife.
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