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Loaden with faireft Fruit, that hung to th' Eve
Adam and Eve's Morning HYMN. MILTON.
HESE are thy glorious Works, Parent of Good!
Almighty! thine this universal Frame, Thus wondrous fair: Thyself how wond'rous then? Unspeakable, who fit'st above these Heavens, Tous invisible, or dimly feen la these thy lowest Works ; yet these declare Thy Goodness beyond Thought, and Pow'r divine, Speak ye who best can tell, Ye Sons of Light, Angels; for ye behold him, and with Songs And choral Symphonies, Day without Night, Circle his. Throne rejoicing ; ye in Heaven: On Earth join all ye Creatures to extol Him first, him lait, him midit, and without End. Fairest of Stars, laft in the Train of Night, If better thou belong not to the Dawn, Sure Pledge of Day, that crown'st the smiling Morn With thy bright Circlet, praise him in thy Sphere,
While Day arises, that sweet Hour of Prime.
Author rise; Whether to deck with Clouds th' uncolour'd Sky, Or wet the thirsty Earth with falling Showers, Rising or falling still advance his Praise. His Praise, ye Winds, that from four Quarters blow, Breathe soft or loud; and wave your Tops, ye Pines, With every Plant, in Sign of Worship wave. Fountains, and ye that warble as ye flow, Melodious Murmurs, warbling tune his Praise. Join Voices all ye living Souls ; ye Birds, That singing up to Heaven Gate ascend, Bear on your Wings, and in your Notes his Praise. Ye that in Waters glide, and ye that walk The Earth, and stately tread, or lowly creep;
Witness if I be filent, Morn or Even,
THOMSON'S HYMN on the CREATION.
THESE, as they change, Almighty Father,
these, Are but the varied God. The rolling Year Is full of Thee, Forth in the pleasing Spring Thy Beauty Walks, thy Tenderness and Love. Wide flush the Fields; the foftening Air.is Bain; Echo the Mountains round; the Forest smiles; And every Sense, and every Heart is Joy. Then comes thy Glory in the Summer Months, With Light and Heat refulgent. Then thy Sun Shoots full Perfection thro’ the livelling Year: And oft thy Voice in dreadful Thunder fpeaks ; And oft at Dawn, deep Noon, or falling Eve, By Brooks and Groves, in: hollow - whispering
Mysterious Round! what Skill, what Force divine, Deep-telt, in these appear! a fimple Train, Yet to delightful mix'd; with such kind Art, Such Beauty and Beneficence combin’d; Shade, unperceiv'd, so foftening into Shade ; And all fo forming an harmonious Whole ; That, as they still fucceed, they ravish ftill. But wand'ring oft, with Brute unconscious Gaze, Man marks not Thee, marks not the mighty Hand, That, ever busy, wheels the filent Spheres ; Works in the secret Deep; shoots, steaming, thence The fair Profusion that o'erspreads the Spring: Flings from the Sun direct the flaming Day ; Feeds ev'ry Creature; hurls the Tempeft forth, And, as on Earth this graceful Change revolves, With transport touches all the Springs of Life.
Nature, attend ! join every living Soul, Beneath the spacious Temple of the Sky, In Adoration join; and, ardent, raise One general Song! To Him, ye vocal Gales, Breathe soft, whose Spirit in your Freshness breathes: Oh talk of Him in solitary Glooms! . Where, o'er the Rock, the scarcely waving Pine Fills the brown Shade with a religious Awe. And
ye, whose bolder Note is heard afar, Who thake th' astonish'd World, lift high to Heaven Th' impetuous Song, and say from whom you rage. His Praise, ye Brooks, attune, ye trembling Rills ; And let me catch it as I muse along, Ye headlong Torrents, rapid, and profound; Ye fofter Floods, that lead the humid Maze Along the Vale ; and thou, majestic Main,
A secret World of Wonders in thyself,