Are they not his by a peculiar right, And by an emphasis of intereft his,
Whofe eye they fill with tears of holy joy, Whose heart with praise, and whofe exalted mind With worthy thoughts of that unwearied love That plann'd, and built, and still upholds, a world So cloth'd with beauty for rebellious man? Yes-ye may fill your garners, ye that reap The loaded foil, and ye may wafte much good In fenfelefs riot; but ye will not find, In feast or in the chace, in fong or dance, A liberty like his, who, unimpeach'd Of ufurpation, and to no man's wrong, Appropriates nature as his father's work, And has a richer use of yours than 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 fea With all his roaring multitude of waves. His freedom is the fame 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 lefs: For he has wings, that neither fickness, pain,
penury, can cripple or confine.
No nook fo narrow but he spreads them there
With ease, and is at large. Th' oppreffor holds His body bound; but knows not what a range His spirit takes, unconscious of a chain; And that to bind him is a vain attempt Whom God delights in, and in whom he dwells.
Acquaint thyfelf with God, if thou would'st tafte His works. Admitted once to his embrace, Thou shalt perceive that thou waft blind before: Thine eye fhall be inftructed; and thine heart, Made pure, shall relish, with divine delight Till then unfelt, what hands divine have wrought. Brutes grace the mountain-top, with faces prone And eyes intent upon the scanty herb
It yields them; or, recumbent on its brow, Ruminate, headlefs of the fcene outspread Beneath, beyond, and ftretching far away From inland regions to the distant main. Man views it, and admires; but refts content With what he views. The landscape has his praife, Unconcern'd who form'd
The paradife he fees, he finds it fuch,
And fuch well-pleas'd to find it, asks no more. Not fo the mind that has been touch'd from heav'n, And in the school of facred wisdom taught
To read his wonders, in whofe thought the world,
Fair as it is, existed ere it was.
Not for its own fake merely, but for his Much more who fashion'd it, he gives it praise; Praife, that, from earth refulting as it ought, To earth's acknowledg'd fov'reign, finds at once Its only just proprietor in Him.
The foul that fees him, or receives fublim'd New faculties, or learns at least t' employ More worthily the pow'rs the own'd before, Difcerns in all things, what, with ftupid gaze Of ignorance, till then the overlook?d- A ray of heav'nly light, gilding all forms Terreftrial in the vast and the minute; The unambiguous footsteps of the God Who gives its luftre to an infect's wing, And wheels his throne upon the rolling worlds. Much converfant with heav'n, fhe often holds With thofe fair minifters of light to man, That fill the fkies nightly with filent pomp,
Sweet conference. Inquires 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 shining hosts, "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 fystems of whose birth no tidings yet "Have reach'd this nether world, ye fpy a race "Favour'd as ours; 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 with, your beamy fires, "That fhow 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 Illuminates. Thy lamp, myfterious word! Which whofo fees no longer wanders loft, With intellects bemaz'd in endiefs doubt, But runs the road of wisdom. Thou hast built,
With means that were not till by thee employ'd, Worlds that had never been hadft thou in strength Been lefs, or lefs benevolent than ftrong.
They are thy witneffes, 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 thyfelf. 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 Poffefs the heart, and fables false as hell; 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 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 fhe be that works but to confound) To mix her wild vagaries with thy laws. Yet thus we dote, refufing while we can Inftruction, and inventing to ourselves
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