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Ye that in waters glide, and ye

that walk
The earth, and stately tread, or lowly creep ;
Witness, if I be silent, morn or even,
To hill or valley, fountain or fresh shade,
Made vocal by my song, and taught His praise.
Hail, universal Lord ! be bounteous still
To give us only good ; and if the night
Have gathered aught of evil, or concealed,
Disperse it, as now light dispels the dark.

MILTON.

XVII.

MORNING HYMN.

H

AST thou a charm to stay the Morning Star
In his steep course? so long he seems to

pause
On thy bald, awful head, O Sovran Blanc?

The Arvè and Arveiron at thy base
Rave ceaseleflly; but thou, most mighty form !
Riseft from forth thy silent sea of pines,
How filently! Around thee and above,
Deep is the air, and dark, substantial black;
An ebon mass : methinks thou pierceft it
As with a wedge! But when I look again,
It is thine own calm home, thy crystal shrine,
Thy habitation from Eternity.

O dread and silent mount! I gazed upon

thee Till thou, still present to the bodily sense,

Didft vanish from my thought ; entranced in prayer I worshipped the Invisible alone.

Yet like some sweet beguiling melody,
So sweet we know not we are listening to it,
Thou, the meanwhile, waft bending with my thought,
Yea with my life, and life's own secret joy,
Till the dilating soul, enrapt, transfused,
Into the mighty vision passing there,
As in her natural form, swelled vast to heaven!
Awake my soul! not only passive praise
Thou owest! not alone these swelling tears,
Mute thanks and secret ecstasy! Awake!
Voice of sweet song! Awake, my heart, awake!
Green vales and icy cliffs, all join my hymn.
Thou first and chief, sole sovereign of the vale !
O, struggling with the darkness all night long,
And all night visited by troops of stars,
Or when they climb the sky, or when they fink;
Companion of the Morning Star at dawn,
Thyself earth's rofy ftar, and of the dawn
Co-herald; wake, wake, and utter praise !
Who fank thy sunless pillars deep in earth?
Who filled thy countenance with rofy light?
Who made thee parent of perpetual itreams :

And you, ye five wild torrents, fiercely glad !
Who called

you

forth from night and utter death, From dark and icy caverns called you

forth, Down these precipitous, black, jagged rocks For ever shattered, and the same for ever? Who gave you your invulnerable life, Your strength, your speed, your fury, and your joy,

Unceasing thunder and eternal foam ?
And who commanded (and the silence came)
Here let the billows stiffen and have rest?

Ye ice-falls ! ye that from the mountain's brow,
Adown enormous ravines slope amain,
Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice,
And stopped at once amidst their maddest plunge !
Motionless torrents! silent cataracts !
Who made you glorious as the Gates of Heaven
Beneath the keen full Moon? Who bade the Sun
Clothe

you with rainbows? Who with living flowers Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet?

God! let the torrents, like a shout of nations,
Answer! and let the ice-plains echo, God !
God! fing ye meadow streams, with gladsome voice!
Ye pine groves with your soft and soul-like sounds!
And they, too, have a voice, yon piles of snow,
And in their perilous fall shall thunder, God!

Ye living flowers, that skirt the eternal frost!
Ye wild goats sporting round the eagle's nest !
Ye eagles, playmates of the mountain storm!
Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds !
Ye signs and wonders of the elements !
Utter forth God, and fill the hills with praise !

Thou, too, hoar Mount, with thy sky-pointing peaks,
Oft from whose feet the Avalanche, unheard,
Shoots downward, glittering through the pure serene
Into the depths of clouds that veil thy breast.

Thou, too, again ftupendous Mountain! thou,
That as I raise my head, awhile bowed low
In adoration, upward from thy base
Slow travelling with dim eyes suffused with tears,
Solemnly seemeft, like a vapoury cloud,
To rise before me

Rise, O ever rise!
Rise, like a cloud of incense from the earth!
Thou kingly spirit throned among the hills,
Thou dread ambassador from earth to heaven,
Great Hierarch! tell thou the silent sky,
And tell the stars, and tell yon rising fun,
Earth, with her thousand voices, praises God.

COLERIDGE.

XVIII.

MORNING HYMN.

UES of the rich unfolding morn,

That ere the glorious sun be born,
By some soft touch invisible,
Around his path are taught to swell ;-

Thou rustling breeze fo fresh and gay,
That dancest forth at opening day,
And brushing by with joyous wing,
Wakest each little leaf to sing.

Oh! timely happy, timely wise,
Hearts that with rising morn arise !
Eyes that the beam celestial view,
Which evermore makes all things new !
New every morning is the love,
Our wakening and uprising prove;
Through sleep and darkness fafely brought,
Restored to life, and power, and thought.
New mercies, each returning day,
Hover around us while we pray ;
New perils paft, new fins forgiven,
New thoughts of God, new hopes of Heaven.

Old friends, old scenes, will lovelier be,
As more of Heaven in each we see :
Some foftening gleam of love and prayer
Shall dawn on every cross and care.
As for some dear familiar strain,
Untired we ask, and ask again,
Ever, in its melodious store,
Finding a spell unheard before;

Such is the bliss of fouls serene,
When they have sworn, and stedfast mean,
Counting the coft, in all to espy
Their God, in all themselves deny.

We need not bid, for cloister'd cell,
Our neighbour and our work farewell ;
Nor strive to win ourselves too high
For sinful man beneath the sky:

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