Your Maker's wondrous power proclaim!
Tell how he form'd your shining frame,
And breathed the fluid air.
Ye angels, catch the thrilling sound!
While all the adoring throngs around
His boundless mercy sing:
Let every listening saint above
Wake all the tuneful soul of love,
And touch the sweetest string.
Join, ye loud spheres, the vocal choir;
Thou dazzling orb of liquid fire,
The mighty chorus aid:
Soon as gray evening gilds the plain,
Thou moon, protract the melting strain,
And praise him in the shade.
Thou heaven of heavens, his vast abode,
Ye clouds, proclaim your forming God,
Who call'd yon worlds from night:
"Ye shades, dispel!"-the Eternal said;
At once the involving darkness fled,
And nature sprung to light.
Whate'er a blooming world contains,
That wings the air, that skims the plains,
United praise bestow;
Ye dragons, sound his awful name
To heaven aloud; and roar acclaim,
Ye swelling deeps below.
Let every element rejoice:
Ye thunders, burst with awful voice
To him who bids you roll;
His praise in softer notes declare,
Each whispering breeze of yielding air,
And breathe it to the soul.
To him, ye graceful cedars, bow;
Ye towering mountains, bending low,
Your great Creator own;
Tell, when affrighted nature shook,
How Sinai kindled at his look,
And trembled at his frown.
Ye flocks, that haunt the humble vale,
Ye insects, fluttering on the gale,
In mutual concourse rise;
Crop the gay rose's vermeil bloom,
And waft its spoils, a sweet perfume,
In incense to the skies.
Wake, all ye mounting tribes, and sing;
Ye blooming warblers of the spring,
Harmonious anthems raise
To him who shaped your finer mould,
Who tipp'd your glittering wings with gold,
And tuned your voice to praise.
Let man, by nobler passions sway'd,
The feeling heart, the judging head,
In heavenly praise employ ;
Spread the Creator's name around,
Till heaven's broad arch rings back the sound,
The general burst of joy.
Ye, whom the charms of grandeur please,
Nursed on the downy lap of ease,
Fall prostrate at his throne:
Ye princes, rulers, all adore;
Praise him, ye kings, who makes your power
An image of his own.
Ye fair, by nature form'd to move,
O praise the eternal Source of Love
With youth's enlivening fire;
age take up the tuneful lay,
Sing his bless'd name—then soar away,
And ask an angel's lyre.
YE are fair, ye are fair; and your pensive rays Steal down like the light of departed days; But have sin and sorrow ne'er wander'd o'er
The green abodes of each sunny shore?
Hath no frost been there, and no withering blast,
Cold, cold, o'er the flower and the forest, pass'd?
Does the playful leaf never fall nor fade?
The rose ne'er droop in the silent shade?
Say, comes there no cloud on your morning beam,
On your night of beauty no troubled dream?
Have ye no tear the eye to annoy,
No grief to shadow its light of joy?
No bleeding breasts, that are doom'd to part,
No blighted bower, and no broken heart?
Hath death ne'er sadden'd your scenes of bloom?
Have your suns ne'er shone on the silent tomb?
Did their sportive radiance never fall
On the cypress tree or the ruin'd wall?—
'T were vain to guess; for no eye hath seen
O'er the gulf eternally fix'd between.
We hear not the song of your early hours;
We hear not the hymn of your evening bowers.
The strains that gladden each radiant sphere
Ne'er pour'd their sweets on a mortal ear;
Though such I could deem, on the evening's sigh,
The air-harp's unearthly melody!
Farewell, farewell! I go to my rest;
For the shades are passing into the west,
And the beacon pales on its lonely height.
Isles of the bless'd, good night, good night!
DESTRUCTION OF JERUSALEM.
FALLEN is thy throne, O Israel !—
Silence is on all thy plains,-
Thy dwellings all lie desolate,-
Thy children weep in chains.
Where are the dews that fed thee
On Etham's barren shore ?
That fire from heaven that led thee
Now lights thy path no more!
Lord, thou didst love Jerusalem!
Once she was all thy own!
Her love thy fairest heritage,
Her power thy glory's throne;
Till evil came and blighted
Thy long-loved olive tree,
And Salem's shrines were lighted
For other gods than thee.
Then sunk the star of Solyma,
Then pass'd her glory's day,
Like heath that in the wilderness
The wild wind whirls away.
Silent and waste her bowers,
Where once the mighty trod;
And sunk those guilty towers,
Where Baal reign'd as God.
"Go," said the Lord, "ye conquerors !
Steep in her blood your swords;
And raze to earth her battlements,
For they are not the Lord's.
Tell Zion's mournful daughter,
O'er kindred bones she 'll tread;
And Hinnom's vale of slaughter
Shall hide but half her dead.”
But soon shall other pictured scenes
In brighter vision rise,
When Zion's sun shall sevenfold shine
On all her mourners' eyes,
And on her mountains beauteous stand The messengers of peace:
"Salvation by the Lord's right hand!" They shout, and never cease.
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