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SACRED POESIE.

HYMN TO THE CREATOR.

THESE are thy glorious works, Parent of good,
Almighty! thine this universal frame,

Thus wondrous fair; thyself how wondrous then!
Unspeakable! who sit'st above these heavens
To us invisible, or dimly seen

In these thy lowest works; yet these declare
Thy goodness beyond thought, and power divine.
Speak ye who best can tell, ye sons of light,
Angels! for ye behold him, and with songs
And choral symphonies, day without night,
Circle his throne rejoicing: ye in heaven,
On earth, join all ye creatures to extol

Him first, him last, him midst, and without end.
Fairest of stars, last in the train of night,
If better thou belong not to the dawn,
Sure pledge of day, that crown'st the smiling morn,
With thy bright circlet, praise him in thy sphere,
While day arises, that sweet hour of prime.
Thou sun, of this great world, both eye and soul,
Acknowledge him thy greater, sound his praise
In thy eternal course, both when thou climb'st,
And when high noon hast gain'd, and when thou

fall'st.

Moon, that now meet'st the orient sun, now fly'st,

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With the fix'd stars, fix'd in their orb that flies,
And ye five other wand'ring fires that move
In mystic dance, not without song, resound
His praise, who out of darkness call'd up light.
Air and ye elements, the eldest birth

Of nature's womb, that, in quaternion, run
Perpetual circle, multiform; and mix

And nourish all things; let your ceaseless change
Vary to your great Maker still new praise.
Ye mists and exhalations that now rise
From hill or steaming lake, dusky or grey,
Till the sun paints your fleecy skirts with gold,
In honour to the world's great Author, rise;
Whether to deck with clouds th' uncolour'd sky,
Or wet the thirsty earth with falling show'rs,
Rising or falling, still advance his praise.

His praise, ye winds, that from four quarters blow,
Breathe soft or loud; and wave your tops, ye pines,
With ev'ry plant, in sign of worship wave.
Fountains, and ye that warble as ye flow,
Melodious murmurs, warbling tune his praise.
Join voices all ye living souls: ye birds,
That singing up to heaven's gate ascend,

Bear on your wings and in your notes his praise.
Ye that in waters glide, and ye that walk
The earth, and stately tread, or lowly creep;
Witness if I be silent, morn or even,

To hill, or valley, fountain, or fresh shade,
Made vocal by my song, and taught his praise.
Hail, universal Lord, be bounteous still
To give us only good: and if the night
Have gather'd ought of evil or conceal'd,
Disperse it, as now light dispels the dark.

MILTON.

GOD THE LIFE OF ALL THINGS.

THERE lives and works

A soul in all things, and that soul is God.
The beauties of the wilderness are His,
That makes so gay the solitary place,
Where no eye sees them. And the fairer forms,
That cultivation glories in, are His.

He sets the bright procession on its way,
And marshals all the order of the year;

He marks the bounds, which winter may not pass,
And blunts his pointed fury; in its case,
Russet and rude, folds up the tender germ,
Uninjured, with inimitable art;

And, ere one flow'ry season fades and dies,
Designs the blooming wonders of the next.
The Lord of all, himself through all diffused,
Sustains, and is the life of all that lives.
Nature is but a name for an effect,
Whose cause is God. One Spirit-His,

Who wore the platted thorns with bleeding brows-
Rules universal nature. Not a flower

But shows some touch, in freckle, streak, or stain,
Of his unrivall'd pencil. He inspires
Their balmy odours, and imparts their hues,
And bathes their eyes with nectar, and includes,
In grains as countless as the seaside sands,
The forms with which he sprinkles all the earth.
Happy who walks with him! whom what he finds
Of flavour or of scent in fruit or flower,
Or what he views of beautiful or grand
In Nature, from the broad majestic oak
To the green blade that twinkles in the sun,
Prompts with remembrance of a present God.

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COWPER.

GOD IN THE SOUL.

ALL that is fair, and bright, and glorious,
Of matchless grandeur and sublimity;
And all of beauty that breaks forth and shines
To the enraptured sense; the sights and sounds
Of ever-varying nature; all are Thine.

Thy presence, Lord, is beaming through their powers
With a transcendent brightness; when afar,
The flowing sea's sublime monotony

Is borne upon the zephyrs, or the thunder,
Robed in the dun of thickest night, rolls on,
Like all triumphant victory, that brings

Shouts at her chariot wheels; why Thou art there!
Thou the Omnipotent! guiding the fierce fires,
That rush like mighty coursers through the sky,
And hurling forth the storm: nor less art Thou
Amid the soft and sweeter beauties of
The green and happy earth: in every tint
Of soft chamelion changes that array

The blithe young morning in ten thousand charms,
And in the brightness of the mid-day cloud,
And in the blushes that make holy eve's
Enrapturing closing, and in every hue
That mingle in the rainbow, in the mild
And tender solace of the chaster moon,
And in the glowing stars, thy presence beams
Ineffable. But 'tis not only here,

Upon this outward world, thy glory falls:
Does not the stirring spirit of mean man,
That inward world of never dying things
When thy Eternal light pervadeth it,
Sparkle more gloriously? and hath it not
A beauty more transcendent, lovely, bright,

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