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Unbounded goodness, power divine,
The fields and verdant meads display;
And bless the hand that made them shine,
With varied charms, profusely gay.

For man and beast, here daily food,
In wide diffusive plenty grows :
And there, for drink, the crystal flood,
In streams, sweet winding, gently flows.
By cooling streams, and soft'ning showers,
The vegetable race are fed ;
And trees and plants, and herbs and flowers
Their Maker's bounty, smiling, spread.

The flow'ry tribes, all blooming rise
Above the weak attempts of art;
Their bright inimitable dyes,
Speak sweet conviction to the heart.

Ye curious minds, who roam abroad,
And trace creation's wonders o'er ;
Confess the footsteps of the God,
And bow before him, and adore.

CREATION AND PROVIDENCE.

LORD, when our raptur'd thought surveys

Creation's beauties o’er,

All nature joins to teach thy praise,

And bids our souls adore.

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Where'er we turn our gazing eyes,

Thy radiant footsteps shine:
Ten thousand pleasing wonders rise,

And speak their source divine.

The living tribes of countless forms,

In earth, and sea, and air;
The meanest flies, the smallest worms,

Almighty power declare.
Thy wisdom, power, and goodness, LORD,

In all thy works appear ;
And, Oh! let man thy praise record;

Man, thy distinguish'd care !

From Thee the breath of life he drew;

That breath thy power maintains : Thy tender mercy, ever new,

His brittle frame sustains.

Yet nobler favours claim his praise,

Of reason's light possest;
By revelation's brighter rays,

Still more divinely blest.
Thy Providence his constant guard,

When various woes impend:

Thou wilt the threat'ning dangers ward,

Or timely succours lend.
On me that Providence has shone,

With gentle smiling rays:
Oh! let my lips and life make known,

Thy goodness and thy praise !

LINES

Written by the Proprietor of Hawkestone, an elegant Seat in Shropshire, when contemplating the Scenes around him, in his own Park, WHILE all thy glories, O my God!

Thro' the creation shine;
While rocks and hills, and fertile vales,

Proclaim the hand divine;
Oh! may I view with humble heart,

The wonders of thy pow'r,
Display'd alike in wilder scenes,

As in each blade and flow'r.
But while I taste thy blessings, LORD!

And sip' the streams below;
Oh! may my soul be led to Thee,

From whom all blessings flow.
And if such footsteps of thy love,

Thro' this lost world we trace; How far transcendent are thy works

Throughout the world of grace!

Just as before yon noon-tide sun,

The brightest stars are small; So earthly comforts are but snares,

Till grace has crown'd them all.

The above verses are to be seen in a natural cavern of a vast rock, from the top of which is a very diversified and romantic prospect.

AN ADDRESS TO THE DEITY.

GREATEST of Beings! Source of life!

Sov'reign of air, and earth, and sea! All nature feels thy pow'r, and all

A silent homage pay to thee. Wak'd at thy call, the morning sun

Pours forth, to thee, its earliest rays; And spreads thy glories as it climbs;

While raptur'd worlds look up and praise.

The moon, to the deep shades of night,

Speaks the mild lustre of thy name; While all the stars that cheer the scene,

Thee, the great LORD of light, proclaim.

And groves

and vales, and rocks and hills, And ev'ry flow'r, and ev'ry tree, Ten thousand creatures, warm with life,

Have each a grateful song for thee.

But man was form’d to rise to Heav'n;

And, blest with reason's clearer light, He views his Maker thro' his works,

And glows with rapture at the sight. Subject to wants, to Thee he looks,

And from thy goodness seeks supplies; And, when oppress'd with guilt, he mourns,

Thy mercy lifts him to the skies.

Children, whose little minds unform’d,

Ne'er rais'd a tender thought to Heav'n; And men, whom reason lifts to God,

Tho' oft by passion downward driven;

And those, who bend with

age
and

care, And faint and tremble near the tomb; Who, sick’ning at the present scenes,

Sigh for that better state to come;

All, great Creator! all are thine;

All feel thy providential care:
And through each varying stage of life,

Alike thy constant pity share.

And whether grief oppress the heart,

Or whether joy elate the breast; Or life still keep its little course,

Or death invite the heart to rest;

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