The unambiguous footsteps of the God Who gives its luftre to an infect's wing, And wheels his throne upon the rolling worlds. That fill the skies nightly with filent pomp, Sent forth a voice, and all the fons of God "And fyftems of whofe birth no tidings yet "As one who long detain'd on foreign fhores "Pants to return, and when he fees afar "His country's weather-bleech'd and batter'd rocks, "From the green wave emerging, darts an eye "Radiant with joy towards the happy land; "So I with animated hopes behold, "And many an aching wish, your beamy fires, "That show like beacons in the blue abyfs, "Ordain'd to guide th' embodied spirit home "From toilfome life to never-ending reft. "Love kindles as I gaze. I feel defires "That give affurance of their own fuccefs, "And that, infus'd from heav'n, muft thither tend.” So reads he nature whom the lamp of truth Worlds that had never been hadft thou in ftrength Been lefs, or less benevolent than strong. They are thy witneffes, who speak thy pow'r And goodness infinite, but speak in ears Till thou proclaim thyself. Their's is indeed Yet, deem'd oracular, lure down to death The uninform'd and heedlefs fouls of men. We give to chance, blind chance, ourselves as blind, The glory of thy work; which yet appears Perfect and unimpeachable of blame, Challenging human fcrutiny, and prov'd Then skilful moft when moft feverely judg'd. But chance is not; or is not where thou reign'st: VOL. II. Thy providence forbids that fickle pow'r (If pow'r fhe be that works but to confound) Yet thus we dote, refufing while we can Gods fuch as guilt makes welcome; gods that fleep, Or difregard our follies, or that fit Amus'd fpectators of this bustling stage. Thee we reject, unable to abide Thy purity, till pure as thou art pure; Made fuch by thee, we love thee for that cause For which we fhunn'd and hated thee before. Then we are free. Then liberty, like day, Breaks on the foul, and by a flash from heav'n Fires all the faculties with glorious joy. A voice is heard that mortal ears hear not Till thou haft touch'd them; 'tis the voice of fong- In that bleft moment Nature, throwing wide From thee departing, they are loft, and rove |