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Ye flocks that haunt the bumble vale,
Ye insects flutt'ring on the gale,
In mutual concourse rise;
Crop the gay rose's vermeil bloom,
Ani waft its spoils a sweet perfume,
In incense to the skies.
Wake, all ye mountain tribes, and sing;
Ye plumy warblers of the spring,
Harmonious anthems raise
To nim who shap'd your finer mould,
Who tipp'd your glittering wings with gold,
And tun'd your voice to praise.
Let man, by nobler passions sway'd,
The feeling heart, the judging head,
In heav'nly praise employ;
Spread his tremendous name around,
Till Heav'o's broad arch rings 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 pow'r
An image of his own.
Ye fair, by Nature form’d to move,
O praise th' eternal source OF LOVE,
With youth's enliv'ning fire:
the toneful lay, Sigh his bless'd name--then soar away,
And ask an angel's lyre.
O THOU! whose balance does the mountains weigh; Whose will the wild tumultuous seas obey; Whose breath can turn those wat'ry worlds to flame, That flame to tempest, and that tempest tame; Earth's meanest son, all trembling, prostrate: falls, And on the boundless of thy goodness calls.
O! give the winds all past offence to sweep,
To scaiter wide, or bury in the deep. -
Thy pow'r, my weakness, may I ever see,
And wholly dedicate my soul to thee.
Reign o'er my will; my passions ebb and flow
At thy conimand, nor human mutive know!
If anger boil, let anger be my praise,
And sin the graceful indignation raise.
My love be warm to succour the distress'],
And lift the burden froin the soul oppress’d..
O may my understanding ever read
This glorious volume which thy wisdom made!
May sea and land, and earth and heav'n be join'd,
To bring th' eternal Author to my mind!
When oceans roar, or awful thunders roll,
May thoughts of thy dread vengeance shake my soul!
When earin's in bloom, or planets proudly shine,
Adore, my heart, the Majesty divine!
Grant I may ever at the morning ray,
Open with pray'r the consecrated day;
Tune thy great praise, and bid my soul arise,
And with the mounting sun ascend the skies;
As that advances, let my zeal improve,
And glow with ardour of consumimate love;
Nor cease at evė, but with the setting sun
My endless worship shall be still begun.
And oh! permit the gloom of solemn night,
To sacred thought may forcibly invite.
When this world's shut, and awful planets rise,
Call on our minds, and raise them to the skies;
Compose our souls with a less dazzling sight,
And show all Nature in a milder lighi;
How ev'ry boist'rous thought in calm subsides!
How the smooth'd spirit into goodness glides!
Oh how divine to tread the milky way,
To the bright palace of the Lord of Day;
His court admire, or for his favour sue,
Or leagues of friendship with his saints renew :
Pleas'd to look down and see the world asleep;
While I long vigils to its Founder keep!
Can'st thou not shake the centre! Oh control,
Subdue by force, the rebel in my soul.
Thou, who canst still the raging of the flood,
Rest rain die various cumulls of any blood;
Teach me, with equal firmness, to sustain
Alluring pleasure, and assaulting pain.
O may I pant for thee in each desire !
And with strong faith foment the holy fire !
Stretch out my soul in hope, and grasp the prize,
Which in eternity's deep bosom lies!
At the great day of recompense behold,
Devoid of fear, the fatal book'unfold!
Then wafted upward to the blissful seat,
From age to age my grateful song repeat;
My Light, my Life, my God, my Saviour see,
und rival angels in the praise of thee!
Trom thic Office of
THOMAS WILSON and SON,
High Ousegate, York.