The unambiguous footsteps of the God Who gives its luftre to an infect's wing, And wheels his throne upon the rolling worlds. With those fair minifters of light to man, That fill the skies nightly with silent pomp, Sweet conference. Enquires what ftrains were they With which heav'n rang, when ev'ry ftar, in hafte To gratulate the new-created earth, Sent forth a voice, and all the fons of God Shouted for joy." Tell me, ye fhining hofts "That navigate a fea that knows no storms, "Beneath a vault unfullied with a cloud, "If from your elevation, whence ye view "Distinctly, scenes invisible to man, "And fyftems of whofe birth no tidings yet "Have reach'd this nether world, ye spy a race "Favor'd as our's, tranfgreffors from the womb, "And hafting to a grave, yet doom'd to rife, "And to poffefs a brighter heav'n than yours? "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 abyfs, "Ordain'd to guide th' embodied spirit home, "From toilfome life to never-ending reft. "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 hadft thou in strength Been lefs, or less benevolent than strong. They are thy witnesses, who speak thy pow'r And goodness infinite, but speak in ears '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, ourfelves as blind, The glory of thy work, which yet appears Perfect and unimpeachable of blame, Challenging human fcrutiny, and prov'd Then skilful most 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 she be that works but to confound) To mix her wild vagaries with thy laws. Yet thus we doat, refufing while we can Inftruction, and inventing to ourselves Gods fuch as guilt makes welcome, Gods that fleep, Or difregard our follies, or that fit Amus'd fpectators of this bustling ftage. Thee we reject, unable to abide Thy purity, 'till pure as thou art pure, Made fuch by thee, we love thee for that cause Then we are free. Then liberty like day 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 praife. In that bleft moment, nature throwing wide The Author of her beauties, who, retir'd By the impure, and hears his pow'r deny❜d. From thee departing, they are loft and rove THE |