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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,

Nor

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

But not its author.

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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