Ennobled by Thy Image, fpotless shone,
Prais'd Thee her author, and ador'd Thy throne :
Able to know, admire, enjoy her God,
She did her high felicity applaud.

Since Thou didst all the spacious worlds display,
Homage to Thee let all obedient pay.
Let glittering stars, that dance their deftin'd ring
Sublime in sky, with vocal planets fing
Confederate praise to Thee, O Great Creator King!
Let the thin districts of the waving air,
Conveyancers of found, Thy skill declare.
Let winds, the breathing creatures of the skies,
Call in each vigorous gale, that roving flies
By land or fea; then one loud triumph raife,
And all their blasts employ in fongs of praife.

While painted herald-birds Thy deeds proclaim,
And on their spreading wings convey Thy fame:
Let Eagles, which in Heaven's blue concave foar,
Scornful of earth fuperior feats explore,
And rife with breasts erect against the fun,
Be minifters to bear Thy bright renown,
And carry ardent praises to Thy throne.
Ye fith, affume a voice; with praifes fill
The hollow rock, and loud reactive hill.
Let lions with their roar their thanks exprefs,
With acclamations shake the wilderness.
Let thunder clouds, that float from pole to pole,
With falvos loud falute Thee as they roll.
Ye monfters of the fea, ye noify waves,
Strike with applause the repercuffive caves.

}

}

Let

Let hail and rain, let meteors form'd of fire,
And lambent flames, in this blest work confpire.
Let the high cedar and the mountain pine
Lowly to thee, Great King, their heads incline,
Let every spicy odoriferous tree

Present its incenfe and its balm to Thee.

And thou, Heaven's viceroy o'er this world below,
In this blest task superior ardour show :
To view thyself, inflect thy reason's ray,
Nature's replenish'd theatre survey;
Then all on fire the Author's skill adore,
And in loud fongs extol Creating Power.

Degenerate minds, in mazy error loft,
May combat Heaven, and impious triumphs boaft;
But, while my veins feel animating fires,.
And vital air this breathing breast inspires,
Grateful to Heaven, I'll stretch a pious wing,
And fing His praise, who gave me power to fing.

CONTENTS.

John Dickimon

1786