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And let me catch it as I muse along.
Ye headlong torrents, rapid and profound;
Ye softer floods, that lead the humid maze
Along the vale; and thou, majestic main,
A secret world of wonders in thyself,

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Sound His stupendous praise, whose greater voice
Or bids you roar or bids your roarings fall.

Soft roll your incense, herbs, and fruits, and flowers,

In mingled clouds to Him; whose sun exalts,

Whose breath perfumes you, and whose pencil paints. 10
Ye forests, bend; ye harvests, wave to Him;
Breathe your still 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 mildest beams,
Ye constellations, while your angels strike,
Amid the spangled sky, the silver lyre.
Great source of day! best image here below
Of thy Creator, ever pouring wide,

From world to world, the vital ocean round,
On Nature write with every beam His praise.
The thunder rolls: be hushed the prostrate world,
While cloud to cloud returns the solemn hymn.
Bleat out afresh, ye hills: ye mossy rocks,
Retain the sound: the broad responsive low
Ye valleys, raise; 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 listening shades, and teach the night His praise.
Ye chief, for whom the whole creation smiles,

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At once the head, the heart, and tongue of all,
Crown the great hymn: in swarming cities vast,
Assembled men, to the deep organ join
The long resounding voice, oft breaking clear
At solemn pauses, through the swelling base •
And, as each mingling flame increases each,
In one united ardor rise to heaven.
Or if you rather choose the rural shade,
And find a fane in every sacred grove;
There let the shepherd's flute, the virgin's lay
The prompting seraph, and the poet's lyre
Still sing the God of Seasons as they roll.— ~
For me, when I forget the darling theme,
Whether the blossom blows, the summer ray
Russets the plain, inspiring Autumn gleams,
Or Winter rises in the blackening east ;
Be iny tongue mute, may fancy paint no more,
And, dead to joy, forget my heart to beat!

Should fate command me to the farthest verge
Of the green earth, to distant barbarous climes,
Rivers unknown to song; where first the sun
Gilds Indian mountains, or his setting beam
Flames on th' Atlantic isles; 'tis nought to me :
Since God is ever present, ever felt,

In the void waste as in the city full:

And where He vital breathes there must be joy.
When even at last the solemn hour shall come,
And wing my mystic flight to future worlds,
I cheerful will obey; there, with new powers,
Will rising wonders sing. I cannot go
Where Universal Love not smi es around,
Sustaining all yon orbs, and al their suns;
From seeming Evil still educing Good,

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And better thence again, and better still,
In infinite progression. But I lose
Myself in Him, in Light ineffable!

Come then, expressive Silence, muse His praise.

LIFE, DEATH, AND IMMORTALITY.-[YOUNG.]

TIRED Nature's sweet restorer, balmy Sleep!

He, like the world, his ready visit pays

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Where Fortune smiles; the wretched he forsakes:
Swift on his downy pinion flies from woe,

And lights on lids unsullied with a tear.

From short (as usual) and disturb'd repose,

I wake: how happy they,1 who wake no more!

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Yet that were vain, if dreams infest the grave.

I wake, emerging from a sea of dreams

Tumultuous; where my wreck'd desponding thought, From wave to wave of fancied misery,

At random drove, her helm2 of reason lost.

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Though now restored, 'tis only change of pain:

(A bitter change!) severer for severe;

The day too short for my distress; and night,

Even in the zenith of her dark domain,

Is sunshine to the color of my fate.

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Night, sable goddess! from her ebon throne,

In rayless majesty, now stretches forth

Her leaden sceptre o'er a slumbering world.
Silence3 how dead! and darkness3 how profound!
Nor eye, nor listening ear, an object finds:
Creation sleeps. 'Tis as the general pulse
Of life stood still, and nature made a pause;
An awful pause! prophetic of her end.

Rule IV, Rem 6.

2 Rule XII.

3 Rule XIII.

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And let her prophecy be soon fulfill'd:

Fate! drop the curtain; I can lose no more.
Silence and Darkness! solemn sisters! twins

From ancient Night, who nurse the tender thought
To reason, and on reason build resolve,

(That column of true majesty in man,;

Assist me: I will thank you in the grave;

The grave, your kingdom. There this frame shall fall A victim sacred to your dreary shrine,

But what are ye.

THOU, who didst put to flight

Primeval Silence, when the morning stars,

Exulting, shouted o'er the rising ball;

O THOU, whose word from solid darkness struck
That spark, the sun: strike wisdom from my soul;
My soul, which flies to Thee, her trust, her treasure.
As misers to their gold, while others rest.
Through this opaque of nature, and of soul,
This double night, transmit one pitying ray,
To lighten and to cheer. Oh lead my mind,
(A mind that fain would wander from its woe,)
Lead it through various scenes of life and death.
And from each scene the noblest truths inspire.
Nor less inspire my conduct, than my song:
Teach my best reason,1 reason;1 my best will
Teach rectitude; and fix my firm resolve,
Wisdom to wed, and pay her long arrear:
Nor let the phial of thy vengeance pour'd
On this devoted head, be pour'd in vain.

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The bell strikes one. We take no note of time

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But from its loss.

To give it then a tongue

Is wise in man.

1 Rule XL.

As if an angel spoke,

* Rule IV, Rem. 3.

I feel the solemn sound. If heard aright,

It is the knell of my departed hours:

Where are they? With the years beyond the flood.
It is the signal that demands dispatch:

How much is to be done! My hopes and fears

Start up alarm'd and o'er life's narrow verge

Look down

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on what? a fathomless abyss; A dread eternity! how surely mine!

And can eternity belong to me,

Poor pensioner on the bounties of an hour?
How poor, how rich, how abject, how august,
How complicate, how wonderful, is man !

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How passing wonder HE, who made him such!

Who centered in our make such strange extremes!

From different natures marvellously mixt,

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Connexion exquisite of distant worlds!

Distinguish'd link in being's endless chain!
Midway from nothing to the Deity!

A beam ethereal, sullied and absorb'd!
Though sullied, and dishonour'd, still divine!
Dim miniature of greatness absolute!
An heir of glory! a frail child of dust!
Helpless immortal! insect infinite!
A worm! a god! I tremble at myself,

And in myself am lost! At home a stranger,

Thought wanders up and dowu, surprised, aghast,
And wondering at her own: how reason reels!
Oh what a miracle to man is man!
Triumphantly distress'd! what joy, what dread!
Alternately transported, and alami,d:
What can preserve my life? or what destroy?
An angel's arm can't snatch me from the grave;
Legions of angels can't confine me there.

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