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So cloath'd with beauty, for rebellious man?
Yes—ye may fill your garners, ye that reap
The loaded soil, and ye may walte much good
In senseless riot ; but ye will not find
In feaft, or in the chace, in fong or dance,
A liberty like his, who unimpeachd
Of ufurpation, and to no man's wrong,
Appropriates nature as his father's work,
And has a richer ufe of



you. He is indeed a freeman. Free by birth, Of no mean city, plann'd or ere the hills Were built, the fountains open'd, or the sea, With all his roaring multitude of waves. His freedom is the same in ev'ry state, And no condition of this changeful life, So manifold in cares, whose ev'ry day Brings its own evil with it, makes it less. For he has wings that neither fickness, pain, Nor penury, can cripple or confine. No nook fo narrow, but he spreads them there With ease, and is at large. Th' oppreffor bolds His body bound, but knows not what a range His fpirit takes, unconscious of a chain, And that to bind him is a vain attenipt, Whom God delights in, and in whom he dwells.

Acquaint thyself with God, if thou would'At taste His works. Adrnitted once to his embrace, Thou shalt perceive that thou wait blind before ; Thine eye shall be instructed, and thine heart Made pure, shall relish with divine delight,



intent upon

'Till then unfelt, what hands divine have wrought. Brutes graze the mountain-top with faces prone, And eyes

the scanty herb It yields them, or recumbent on its brow, Ruminate, heedless of the scene outspread Beneath, beyond, and stretching far away, From inland regions to the distant main. Man views it, and admires, but rests content With what hę views. The landscape has his praise, But not its author. Unconcern'd who form'd The paradise he fees, he finds it such, And fuch well-pleas'd to find it, asks no more. Not so the mind that has been touch'd from hear'n, And in the school of facred wisdom taught To read his wonders, in whose thought the world, Fair as it is, existed ere it was. Not for its own sake merely, but for his, Much more, who fashion'd it, he gives it praise ; Praise, that from earth resulting, as it ought, To earth's acknowledg'd fov'reign, finds at once Its only just proprietor in Him. The soul that sees him, or receives sublim'd New faculties, or learns at least t'employ More worthily the pow'rs she own'd before ; Discerns in all things, with what stupid gaze Of ignorance, till then, she overlook'd, A ray of heav'nly light gilding all forms Terrestrial, in the vast, and the ninute, The unambiguous footsteps of the God Who gives its lustre to an infect's wing, And wheels his throne upon the rolling worlds.


Much. conversant with hear'n, she often holds... With those fair minifters of light to man, That fill the fkies nightly, with filent pomp, Sweet conference ; enquires what strains 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 sons of God Shouted for joy.--"Tell me, ye shining hosts “ That navigate, a sea that knows no storms 66 Beneath a vault unsullied with a cloud, « If from your elevation, whence


views " Distinctly, scenes invisible to man, “ And: fvstems, of whose birth no tidings yet " Have reach'd this nether world, ye fpy a race « Favor'd as our's, tranfgressors from the wonib, " and hasting to a grave, yet doom'd to rise, " And to poffefs a brighter heav'n than yours? ., " As one who long detain'd on foreign shores " Pants to return, and when he sees afar, “ His country's weather-bleach'd and batter'd rocks, 66 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 Thew like beacons in the blue abyss, 6 Ordain'd to guide th' embodied spirit home, “ From toilfome life, to never-ending rest. • Love kindles as I gaze. I feel desires, “ That give assurance of their own success, * And that infus'd from heav'n, must thither tend.”.

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So reads he nature, whom the lamp. of truth Illuminates. Thy lamp, myfterious word ! Which, whoso sees, no longer wanders loft, With intellects bemaz'd in endless doubt, But runs the road of wisdom. Thou haft built, With means that were not, till by thee employ'd, Worlds that had never been, hadit thou in strengta Been less, or less benevolent than' strong. They are thy witnesses, who speak thy pow'r And goodness infinite, but speak in ears That hear not, or receive not their report. In vain thy creatures testify of thee, 'Till thou proclaim thyself. Theirs is indeed A teaching voice ; but 'tis the praise of thine, That whom it teaches, it makes prompt to learn, And with the boon gives talents for its use. 'Till thou art heard, imaginations vain PoiTefs the heart, and fables false as hell, Yet deem’d oracular, lure down to death The univforni'd and heedless 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 scrutiny, and prov'd Then skilful most, when most severely judg'd. But chance is not; or is not where thou reign'st : 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 dote, refusing, while we can, Instruction, and inventing to ourselves


Gods, such as guilt makes welcome, Gods that sleep,
Or disregard our follics, or that fit
Amus'd spectators of this buttling itage.
Thee we reject, unable to abide
Thy purity, 'till pure as thou art pure,
Made such by thee, we love thee for that cause
For which we shunnid and hated thee before.
Then we are free: then liberty, like day,
Breaks on the soul, and by a flash from heav'n,
Fires all the faculties with glorious joy.
A voice is heard, that mortal ears hcar not
'Till thou haft touch'd them ; 'tis the voice of song,
A loud Hosanna sent from all thy works,
Which he that hears it, with a shout repeats,
And adds his rapture to the gen'ral praise.
In that blest moment, nature throwing wide
Her veil opaque, discloses with a smile
The author of her beauties, who retir'd
Behind his own creation, works unseen
By the impure, and hears his pow'r deny'd.
Thou art the source and centre of all minds,
Their only point of rest, eternal word !
From thee departing, they are lost and rove
At random, without honor, hope, or peace.
From thee is all that sooths the life of man,
His high endeavour, and his glad success,
His itrength to fuffer, and his will to serve.
But oh, thou bounteous giver of all good,
Thou art, of all thy gifts, thyself the crown!
Give what thou canst, without thee we are poor,
And with thee rich, take what thou wilt away.


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