A Collection of Poems: In Six Volumes

Praise him, who, when the heav'ns he spread,
Darkness his thick pavilion made,

And light his regal robe...

XIV.

Praise him, ye light'nings, as ye fly,
Wing'd with his vengeance through the sky,
And red with wrath divine;

Praise him, ye clouds, that wand'ring ftray,
Or fix'd by him in close array,

Surround his aweful fhrine.

XV.

Exalt, O earth! thy heav'nly King,

Who bids the plants, that form the spring,
With annual verdure bloom;

Whose frequent drops of kindly rain,
Prolific fwell the rip'ning grain,...
And bless thy fertile womb.
XVI.
Ye mountains, that ambitious rife,
And heave your fummits to the skies,
Revere his aweful nod;

Think how you once affrighted fled,
When Jordan fought his fountain-head,
And own'd th' approaching God.

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XVII. Ye

XVII.

Ye trees, that fill the rural scene,

Ye flowers, that o'er th' enamel'd green.

In native beauty reign;

O! praife the Ruler of the fkies,
Whofe hand the genial fap fupplies,
And clothes the smiling plain.
XVIII.

Ye fecret springs, ye gentle rills,
That murm'ring rife among the hills,
Or fill the humble vale;

Praise him, at whofe almighty nod
The rugged rock diffolving flow'd,
And form'd a springing well.

XIX.

Praise him, ye floods, and feas profound,
Whose waves the spacious earth surround,
And roll from shore to fhore;

Aw'd by his voice, ye feas, fubfide,

Ye floods, within your channels glide,
And tremble and adore.

XX.

Ye whales, that ftir the boiling deep,

Or in its dark receffes sleep,

Remote from human eye;

N 3

Praise

Praise him, by whom ye all are fed,
Praise him, without whofe heav'nly aid
Ye languifh, faint, and die.

XXI.

Ye birds, exalt your Maker's name,
Begin, and with th' important theme

Your artless lays improve;
Wake with your fongs the rifing day,
Let mufic found on every spray,

And fill the vocal grove.

XXII.

Praise him, ye beafts, that nightly roam
Amid the folitary gloom,

Th' expected prey to feize;
Ye flaves of the laborious plough,
Your stubborn necks fubmiffive bow,
And bend your weary'd knees.
XXIII.
Ye fons of men, his praise display,
Who ftampt his image on your clay,

And gave it pow'r to move;"
Ye, that in Judah's confines dwell,
From age to age fucceffive tell

The wonders of his love.

XXIV. Let

XXIV.

Let Levi's tribe the lay prolong,
'Till angels liften to the fong,

And bend attentive down;
Let wonder feize the heav'nly train,
Pleas'd, while they hear a mortal strain,
So fweet, fo like their own.

XXV.

And you, your thankful voices join,
That oft at Salem's facred fhrine

Before his altars kneel;

Where thron'd in majesty he dwells,
And from the myftic cloud reveals
The dictates of his will.
XXVI.

Ye fpirits of the just and good,
That, eager for the bleft abode,

To heav'nly manfions foar :
O! let your fongs his praise display,
'Till heav'n itself fhall melt away,
And time shall be no more.
XXVII.