| |
| ARISE, my soul, on wings enraptur’d, rise | |
| To praise the monarch of the earth and skies, | |
| Whose goodness and beneficence appear | |
| As round its centre moves the rolling year, | |
| Or when the morning glows with rosy charms, | 5 |
| Or the sun slumbers in the ocean’s arms: | |
| Of light divine be a rich portion lent | |
| To guide my soul, and favour my intent. | |
| Celestial muse, my arduous flight sustain, | |
| And raise my mind to a seraphic strain! | 10 |
| |
| Ador’d for ever be the God unseen, | |
| Which round the sun revolves this vast machine, | |
| Though to his eye its mass a point appears: | |
| Ador’d the God that whirls surrounding spheres, | |
| Which first ordain’d that mighty Sol should reign | 15 |
| The peerless monarch of th’ ethereal train: | |
| Of miles twice forty millions is his height, | |
| And yet his radiance dazzles mortal sight | |
| So far beneath—from him th’ extended earth | |
| Vigour derives, and ev’ry flow’ry birth: | 20 |
| Vast through her orb she moves with easy grace | |
| Around her Phœbus in unbounded space; | |
| True to her course th’ impetuous storm derides, | |
| Triumphant o’er the winds, and surging tides. | |
| |
| Almighty, in these wond’rous works of thine, | 25 |
| What Pow’r, what Wisdom, and what Goodness shine? | |
| And are thy wonders, Lord, by men explor’d, | |
| And yet creating glory unador’d! | |
| |
| Creation smiles in various beauty gay, | |
| While day to night, and night succeeds to day: | 30 |
| That Wisdom, which attends Jehovah’s ways, | |
| Shines most conspicuous in the solar rays: | |
| Without them, destitute of heat and light, | |
| This world would be the reign of endless night: | |
| In their excess how would our race complain, | 35 |
| Abhorring life! how hate its length’ned chain! | |
| From air adust what num’rous ills would rise? | |
| What dire contagion taint the burning skies? | |
| What pestilential vapours, fraught with death, | |
| Would rise, and overspread the lands beneath? | 40 |
| |
| Hail, smiling morn, that from the orient main | |
| Ascending dost adorn the heav’nly plain! | |
| So rich, so various are thy beauteous dies, | |
| That spread through all the circuit of the skies, | |
| That, full of thee, my soul in rapture soars, | 45 |
| And thy great God, the cause of all adores. | |
| |
| O’er beings infinite his love extends, | |
| His Wisdom rules them, and his Pow’r defends. | |
| When tasks diurnal tire the human frame, | |
| The spirits faint, and dim the vital flame, | 50 |
| Then too that ever active bounty shines, | |
| Which not infinity of space confines. | |
| The sable veil, that Night in silence draws, | |
| Conceals effects, but shews th’ Almighty Cause; | |
| Night seals in sleep the wide creation fair, | 55 |
| And all is peaceful but the brow of care. | |
| Again, gay Phœbus, as the day before, | |
| Wakes ev’ry eye, but what shall wake no more; | |
| Again the face of nature is renew’d, | |
| Which still appears harmonious, fair, and good. | 60 |
| May grateful strains salute the smiling morn, | |
| Before its beams the eastern hills adorn! | |
| |
| Shall day to day and night to night conspire | |
| To show the goodness of the Almighty Sire? | |
| This mental voice shall man regardless hear, | 65 |
| And never, never raise the filial pray’r? | |
| To-day, O hearken, nor your folly mourn | |
| For time mispent, that never will return. | |
| |
| But see the sons of vegetation rise, | |
| And spread their leafy banners to the skies. | 70 |
| All-wise Almighty Providence we trace | |
| In trees, and plants, and all the flow’ry race; | |
| As clear as in the nobler frame of man, | |
| All lovely copies of the Maker’s plan. | |
| The pow’r the same that forms a ray of light, | 75 |
| That call’d creation from eternal night. | |
| “Let there be light,” he said: from his profound | |
| Old Chaos heard, and trembled at the sound: | |
| Swift as the word, inspir’d by pow’r divine, | |
| Behold the light around its maker shine, | 80 |
| The first fair product of th’ omnific God, | |
| And now through all his works diffus’d abroad. | |
| |
| As reason’s pow’rs by day our God disclose, | |
| So we may trace him in the night’s repose: | |
| Say what is sleep? and dreams how passing strange! | 85 |
| When action ceases, and ideas range | |
| Licentious and unbounded o’er the plains, | |
| Where Fancy’s queen in giddy triumph reigns. | |
| Hear in soft strains the dreaming lover sigh | |
| To a kind fair, or rave in jealousy; | 90 |
| On pleasure now, and now on vengeance bent, | |
| The lab’ring passions struggle for a vent. | |
| What pow’r, O man! thy reason then restores, | |
| So long suspended in nocturnal hours? | |
| What secret hand returns the mental train, | 95 |
| And gives improv’d thine active pow’rs again? | |
| From thee, O man, what gratitude should rise! | |
| And, when from balmy sleep thou op’st thine eyes, | |
| Let thy first thoughts be praises to the skies. | |
| How merciful our God who thus imparts | 100 |
| O’erflowing tides of joy to human hearts, | |
| When wants and woes might be our righteous lot, | |
| Our God forgetting, by our God forgot! | |
| |
| Among the mental pow’rs a question rose, | |
| “What most the image of th’ Eternal shows?” | 105 |
| When thus to Reason (so let Fancy rove) | |
| Her great companion spoke immortal Love. | |
| |
| “Say, mighty pow’r, how long shall strife prevail, | |
| And with its murmurs load the whisp’ring gale? | |
| Refer the cause to Recollection’s shrine, | 110 |
| Who loud proclaims my origin divine, | |
| The cause whence heav’n and earth began to be, | |
| And is not man immortaliz’d by me? | |
| Reason let this most causeless strife subside.” | |
| Thus Love pronounc’d, and Reason thus reply’d. | 115 |
| |
| “Thy birth, celestial queen! ’tis mine to own, | |
| In thee resplendent is the Godhead shown; | |
| Thy words persuade, my soul enraptur’d feels | |
| Resistless beauty which thy smile reveals.” | |
| Ardent she spoke, and, kindling at her charms, | 120 |
| She clasp’d the blooming goddess in her arms. | |
| |
| Infinite Love where’er we turn our eyes | |
| Appears: this ev’ry creature’s wants supplies; | |
| This most is heard in Nature’s constant voice, | |
| This makes the morn, and this the eve rejoice; | 125 |
| This bids the fost’ring rains and dews descend | |
| To nourish all, to serve one gen’ral end, | |
| The good of man: yet man ungrateful pays | |
| But little homage, and but little praise. | |
| To him, whose works array’d with mercy shine, | 130 |
| What songs should rise, how constant, how divine! | |
| |
