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Loaden with faireft Fruit, that hung to th' Eve
Tempting, stirr'd in me sudden Appetite
To pluck and eat; whereat I wak’d, and found
Before mine Eves all real, as the Dream
Had lively shadow'd : Here had new begun
My Wand'ring, had not he who was my Guide
Up hither, from among the Trees appear'd,
Presence divine. Rejoicing, but with Awe,
In Adoration at his Feet I fell
Submiss: He rear'd me, and Whom thou sought it.

I am,
Said mildly, Author of all this thou seest
Above, or round about thee, or beneath.

Adam and Eve's Morning HYMN. MILTON.


HESE are thy glorious Works, Parent of Good!

Almighty! thine this universal Frame, Thus wondrous fair: Thyself how wond'rous then? Unspeakable, who fit'st above these Heavens, Tous invisible, or dimly feen la these thy lowest Works ; yet these declare Thy Goodness beyond Thought, and Pow'r 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 lait, him midit, and without End. Fairest of Stars, laft 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 San, of this great World both Eye and Soul,
Acknowledge him thy Greater, found his Praise
In thy Eternal Course, both when thou climb'ft,
And when high Noon haft gain'd, and when thou

Moon, that now meet'st the orient Sun, now fly'it,
With the fix'd Stárs, 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 eldeft Birth
Of Nature's Womb, that in Quaternion run
Perpetual Circle, multiform; and mix
And nourish all Things; let your ceaseless Change
Vary to our great Maker still new Praise.
Ye Mifts and Exhalations that now rise
From Hill or steaming Lake, dusky or grey,
Till the Sun paint your fleecy Skirts with Gold,
In Honour to the World's


Author rise; Whether to deck with Clouds th' uncolour'd Sky, Or wet the thirsty Earth with falling Showers, 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 every 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 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 filent, 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 ftill
To give us only Good; and if the Night
Have gather'd ought of Evil, or conceald,
Disperle it, as now Light difpels the Dark,


THESE: thele

THESE, as they change, Almighty Father,

these, Are but the varied God. The rolling Year Is full of Thee, Forth in the pleasing Spring Thy Beauty Walks, thy Tenderness and Love. Wide flush the Fields; the foftening Bain; Echo the Mountains round; the Forest smiles; And every Sense, and every Heart is Joy. Then comes thy Glory in the Summer Months, With Light and Heat refulgent. Then thy Sun Shoots full Perfection thro’ the livelling Year: And oft thy Voice in dreadful Thunder fpeaks ; And oft at Dawn, deep Noon, or falling Eve, By Brooks and Groves, in: hollow - whispering

Thy Bounty shines in Autumn unconfin'd,
And spreads a common Feast for all that live.
In Winter awful Thou! with Clouds and Storms
Around Thee thrown, Tempeft-o'er Tempest

Majestic Darkness! on the Whirlwind's Wing;
Riding fublime, Thou bid'ft-the World adoré,
And humblelt Nature with thy Northern Blast.


Mysterious Round! what Skill, what Force divine, Deep-telt, in these appear! a fimple Train, Yet to delightful mix'd; with such kind Art, Such Beauty and Beneficence combin’d; Shade, unperceiv'd, so foftening into Shade ; And all fo forming an harmonious Whole ; That, as they still fucceed, they ravish ftill. But wand'ring oft, with Brute unconscious Gaze, Man marks not Thee, marks not the mighty Hand, That, ever busy, wheels the filent Spheres ; Works in the secret Deep; shoots, steaming, thence The fair Profusion that o'erspreads the Spring: Flings from the Sun direct the flaming Day ; Feeds ev'ry Creature; hurls the Tempeft forth, And, as on Earth this graceful Change revolves, With transport touches all the Springs of Life.

Nature, attend ! join every living Soul, Beneath the spacious Temple of the Sky, In Adoration join; and, ardent, raise One general Song! To Him, ye vocal Gales, Breathe soft, whose Spirit in your Freshness breathes: Oh talk of Him in solitary Glooms! . Where, o'er the Rock, the scarcely waving Pine Fills the brown Shade with a religious Awe. And

ye, whose bolder Note is heard afar, Who thake th' astonish'd World, lift high to Heaven Th' impetuous Song, and say 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 secret World of Wonders in thyself,
Sound his ftupendous Praise ; whose greater Voice
Or bids you roar, or bids your Roarings fall.
Soft-roli your Incense, Herbs, and Fruits, and

In mingled Clouds to Him; whose Sun exalts,
Whose Breath perfumes you, and whose Pencil paints.
Ye Forests berd, ye Harvests wave, to Him;
Breathe your ftill Song into the Reaper's Heart,
As Home he goes beneath the joyous Moon.
Ye that keep Watch in Heaven, as Earth asleep
Unconscious lies, effuse your mildeit Beams.
Ye Constellations, while your Angels strike,
Amid the spangled Sky, the filver Lyre.
Great Sonrce of Day! best Image here below
Of thy Creator, ever pouring wide
From World to World, the vital Ocean round,
On Nature write with ev'ry Beam his Praise.
The Thunder rolls: Be hulh'd the prostrate World;
While Cloud to Cloud returns the folemn Hymn.
Bleat out afresh, ye Hills: Ye mofly Rocks,
Retain the Sound: The broad responsive Low,
Ye Vallies, raife ; for the Great Shepherd reigns ;
And his unsuffering Kingdom yet will come.
Ye Woodlands all, awake ! A boundless Song
Burst from the Groves! and when the restless Day,
Expiring, lays the warbling World asleep,
Sweetest of Birds ! sweet Philomela, charm
The list’ning Shades, and teach the Night his Praise.
Ye Chief, for whom the whole Creation smiles;
At once the Head, the Heart, and Tongue of all,
Crown the great Hymn ! in fwarming Cities valt,
Assembled Men, to the deep Organ join


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