The unambiguous footsteps of the God Who gives its luftre to an infect's wing, And wheels his throne upon the rolling worlds. That fill the skies nightly with filent pomp, Sweet conference. Enquires what ftrains were they With which heav'n rang, when ev'ry star, in haste To gratulate the new-created earth, Sent forth a voice, and all the fons of God. Shouted for joy." Tell me, ye fhining hosts "That navigate a fea that knows no storms, "Beneath a vault unsullied with a cloud, "If from your elevation, whence ye view Diftinctly, scenes invifible to man, "And fyftems of whofe birth no tidings yet "As one who long detain'd on foreign fhores "Pants to return, and when he fees afar "His country's weather-bleach'd and batter'd 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 wish, your beamy fires, "That fhew like beacons in the blue abyss, "Ordain'd to guide th' embodied spirit home, "From toilfome life to never-ending rest. "Love kindles as I gaze. I feel defires "That give affurance of their own fuccefs, "And that infus'd from heav'n must thither tend.". So reads he nature whom the lamp of truth Worlds Worlds that had never been hadst thou in strength They are thy witneffes, who speak thy pow'r 'Till thou proclaim thyfelf. Their's is indeed Yet deem'd oracular, lure down to death The uninform'd 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 prov'd Then skilful moft when most severely judg'd. But chance is not; or is not where thou reign'st: VOL. II. Thy Thy providence forbids that fickle pow'r (If pow'r fhe be that works but to confound) To mix her wild vagaries with thy laws. Yet thus we doat, refufing while we can Instruction, and inventing to ourselves. Gods fuch as guilt makes welcome, Gods that fleep, Or difregard our follies, or that fit Amus'd spectators 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 cause For which we fhunn'd and hated thee before. Then we are free. Then liberty like day Breaks on the foul, and by a flash from heav'n A voice is heard that mortal ears hear not 'Till thou haft touch'd 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 gen'ral praise. In that bleft moment, nature throwing wide The Author of her beauties, who, retir'd |