An agency divine, to make him know His moment when to fink and when to rise, Age after age, than to arrest his course? All we behold is miracle, but feen So duly, all is miracle in vain. Where now the vital energy that mov'd, While fummer was, the pure and fubtle lymph A cold ftagnation on th' inteftine tide. But let the months go round, a few short months, Barren as lances, among which the wind. Makes wintry mufic, fighing as it goes, Shall put their graceful foliage on again, And more aspiring, and with ampler spread, Shall boast new charms, and more than they have loft. Then, each in its peculiar honors clad, Shall publish, even to the diftant eye, Its family and tribe. Laburnum rich In streaming gold; fyringa iv'ry pure; Now fanguine, and her beauteous head now set Studious of ornament, yet unrefolv'd Which hue the most approv'd, fhe chose them all; Of flow'rs, like flies cloathing her flender rods, *The Guelder-rofe. With blufhing wreaths, invefting ev'ry fpray; Althea with the purple eye; the broom, Her bloffoms; and luxuriant above all The jafmine, throwing wide her elegant sweets, Shall be difmantled of its fleecy load, And flush into variety again. From dearth to plenty, and from death to life, A foul in all things, and that foul is God. The beauties of the wildernefs are his, That make fo gay the folitary place Where no eye fees them. And the fairer forms That That cultivation glories in, are his. He fets the bright proceffion on its way, And marshals all the order of the year; He marks the bounds which winter may not pafs, Ruffet and rude, folds uu the tender germ And, ere one flow'ry feason fades and dies, Some fay that, in the origin of things, When all creation started into birth, The infant elements receiv'd a law From which they fwerve not fince. That under force And need not his immediate hand, who firft Thus dream they, and contrive to fave a God The great Artificer of all that moves VOL. II. The The stress of a continual act, the pain Of unremitted vigilance and care, As too laborious and fevere a task. So vast in its demands, unless impell'd Nature is but a name for an effect Whofe caufe is God. He feeds the fecret fire By which the mighty process is maintain'd, Whofe |