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Soon as grey ev'ning gilds the plain, Thou, moon, protract the melting strain,

And praise Him in the shade.

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Thou, heav'n of heav'ns, His vast abode; Ye clouds, proclaim your forming God,

Who called yon worlds from night: “Ye shades, dispel !” th' Eternal faid; At once th' involving darkness fled,

And nature sprung to light.


Whate'er a blooming world contains,
That wings the air, that skims the plains,

United praise bestow.
Ye dragons, found His awful name
To heav'n aloud ; and roar acclaim,

Ye swelling deeps below.


Let ev'ry element rejoice :
Ye thunders, burst with awful voice

To Him who bids you roll :
His praise in softer notes declare,
Each whispering breeze of yielding air,

And breathe it to the soul.


To Him, ye graceful cedars, bow ;
Ye tow'ring mountains, bending low,

Your great Creator own;

Tell, when affrighted nature shook,
How Sinai kindled at His look,

And trembled at His frown.


Ye flocks, that haunt the humble vale,
Ye insects, fluttering on the gale,

In mutual concourse rise ;
Crop the gay rose's vermeil bloom,
And waft its spoils, a sweet perfume,

In incense to the skies.


Wake, all ye mountain tribes, and fing;
Ye plumy warblers of the spring,

Harmonious anthems raise
To Him who shaped your finer mould,
Who tipped your glittering wings with gold,

And tuned your voice to praise.


Let man, by nobler paffion swayed,
The feeling heart, the judging head,

In heavenly praise employ;
Spread His tremendous name around,
Till heaven's broad arch brings back the sound,

The gen'ral burst of joy.


Ye, whom the charms of grandeur please,
Nurs’d on the downy lap of ease,

Fall prostrate at His throne ;

Ye princes, rulers, all adore ;
Praise Him, ye kings, who makes your power

An image of His own.


Ye fair, by nature formed to move,
O praise th' eternal source of love

With youth's enlivening fire;

the tuneful lay, Sigh His blessed name—then soar away, And ask an angel's lyre.


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Ye fearful faints, fresh courage take,
The clouds


so much dread Are big with mercy, and shall break

In blessings on your head.

Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,
But trust Him for His

grace : Behind a frowning Providence

He hides a smiling face.

His purposes will ripen fast,

Unfolding every hour;
The bud may have a bitter taste,

But sweet will be the flower.

Blind unbelief is sure to err,

And scan His work in vain :
God is His own interpreter,

And He will make it plain.




H Father of Heaven! look down from

above, Illumine my paths by the light of Thy

love, That sleeping or waking, by night or by

day, My footsteps may ever be found in Thy way. When the world's bright allurements before me are

shining, And to follow their course my fond heart is incliningOh make me remember how small is their worth, How empty and vain are the pleasures of earth ! When passions within their wild warfare are waging, And finful temptations my mind are engaging, Be Thy arm my support, and if virtue should shrink, Uphold the weak nature, which haply might fink.

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