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A Translation of the CIV. Psalm to the Original Sense. My soul exalt the Lord with hymns of praise:

O Lord, my God, how boundless is thy might!
Whose throne of state is cloth'd with glorious rays,
And round about hast rob'd thyself with light!

Who, like a curtain, hast the heavens display'd,
And in the watry roofs thy chambers laid!

Whose chariots are the thickned clouds above,

Who walk'st upon the winged winds below,
At whose command the airy spirits move,
And fiery meteors their obedience show.

Who on this base the earth did firmly found,
And mad'st the deep to circumvest it round!

The waves that rise would drown the highest hill,

But at thy check they fly, and when they hear
Thy thund'ring voice, they post to do thy will,
And bound their furies in their proper sphere:

Where surging floods, and valing ebbs can tell,
That none beyond thy marks must sink or swell.

Who hath dispos’d, but thou, the winding way

Where springs down from the steepy crags do beat,
At which both foster'd beasts their thirsts allay,
And the wild asses come to quench their heat;

Where birds resort, and in their kind, thy praise
Among the branches chant in warbling lays ?

The mounts are wat' red from thy dwelling place,

The barns and meads are fillid for man and beast;
Wine glads the heart, and oil adorns the face,
And bread the staff whereon our strength doth rest;

Nor shrubs alone feel thy suffising hand,
But even the cedars that so proudly stand.

So have the fowls their sundry seats to breed,

The ranging stork in stately beeches dwells ;
The climbing goats on hills securely feed,
The mining conies shroud in rocky cells :

Nor can the heavenly lights their course forget,
The moon her turns, or sun his times to set.

Thou mak'st the night to over-veil the day;

Then savage beasts creep from the silent wood,
Then lions whelps lie roaring for their prey,

And at thy powerful hand demand their food :
· Who when at morn they all recouch again,

Then toiling man till eve pursues his pain.

O Lord, when on thy various works we look,

How richly furnish'd is the earth we tread!
Where, in the fair contents of Nature's Book,
We may the wonders of thy wisdom read :

Nor earth alone, but, lo! the sea so wide,
Where great and small, a world of creatures glide.

There go the ships that furrow out their way;

Yea, thereof whales enormous sights we see,
Which yet have scope among the rest to play,
And all do wait for their support on thee :

Who hast assign'd each thing his proper food,
And in due season dost dispense thy good.

They gather when thy gifts thou dost divide ;

Their stores abound, if thou thy hand enlarge :
Confus'd they are, when thou thy beams dost hide ;
In dust resolv'd, if thou their breath discharge.

Again, when thou of life renew'st the seeds,
The withered fields revest their cheerful weeds. a

• There are many flowing, vigorous, and poetically expressed lines in this page. Be ever gloried here thy Sovereign Name,

That thou may'st smile on all which thou hast made;
Whose frowns alone can shake this earthly frame,
And at whose touch the hills in smoke shall vade.

For me, may (while I breathe) both harp and voice,
In sweet indictment of thy hymns rejoice.

Let sinners fail, let all profaneness cease;
His praise, (my soul) His praise shall be thy peace.

The hymn which I shall now reprint was inserted twenty-four years ago in The Topographer," a from a MS. in the British Museum, in which it was ascribed to Sir Walter Raleigh, who is there said to have composed it just before his execution. The authority of Walton must be considered as strong in favour of Wotton. Still, as some of Raleigh's poems are printed by Walton at the end of Sir Henry's, (as found among Sir Henry's papers), I think it must remain a doubt to whom it ought to be ascribed. A poem entitled “A Description of the Country's Pecreations,” which is given by Ellis as Wotton's, is clearly Raleigh's, having his signature of Ignoto affixed 3 to it. This hymn is both poetical and sublime, and written with admirable flow, harmony, and vigour of simple language.

Vol. I. p. 424, London, 1789, 8vo. On the supposition that this hymn was written by Sir Walter Raleigh, it is remarked, after mentioning “the barbarous usage he met with on his trial, being dragged from his bed in a fever,) and the unexampled ability and firmness with which, even under these circumstances, he defended himself," that “great as the world's opinion is of this illustrious character, it will, if possible, be heightened by the knowledge that he was the author of these sublime lines."

This Hymn was made by Sir Henry Wotton, when he was an

Ambassador at Venice, in the Time of a great Sickness there.

ETERNAL Mover, whose diffused glory,

To shew our groveling reason what thou art,
Unfolds itself in clouds of Nature's story,
Where man, thy proudest creature, acts his part:

Whom yet, alas! I know not why, we call
The World's contracted sum, the little all!

For, what are we but lumps of walking clay?

Why should we swell? whence should our spirits rise ?
Are not brute beasts as strong, and birds as gay,
Trees longer liv'd, and creeping things as wise?
Only our souls receive more inward light,
To feel our weakness, and confess thy might.

Thou then, our strength, Father of life and death,

To whom our thanks, our vows, ourselves we owe;
From me thy tenant of this fading breath,
Accept these lines which from thy goodness flow:

And thou that wert thy Regal Prophet's Muse,
Do not thy praise in weaker strains refuse!

Let these poor notes ascend unto thy throne,

Where Majesty doth sit with Mercy crown'd;
Where my Redeemer lives, in whom alone
The errors of my wand'ring life are drown'd:

Where all the choir of heaven resound the fame, • That only thine, thine is the saving name!

Well then, my soul, joy in the midst of pain;

That Christ that conquer'd hell, shall from above With greater triumph yet return again,

And conquer his own justice with his love;

Commanding earth and seas to render those
Unto his bliss, for whom he paid his woes.

Now have I done: now are my thoughts at peace,

And now my joys are stronger than my grief:
I feel those comforts that shall never cease,
Future in Hope, but present in Belief.

Thy words are true, thy promises are just,
And thou wilt find thy dearly bought in dust!

Walton says, “That at Sir Henry Wotton's first s going ambassador into Italy, his cousin, Sir Albert Morton, went his secretary: and am next to tell you, that Sir Albertus died, Secretary of State to our late king; but, cannot, am not able to express the sorrow that possessed Sir Henry Wotton, at his first hearing the news that Sir Albertus was by death lost to him and this world; and yet, the reader may partly guess by these following expressions: the first in a letter to his Nicholas Pey, of which this that followeth is a

part:

-----'And, my dear Nick, when I had been here almost a fortnight, in the midst of my great contentment, I received notice of Sir Albertus Morton his departure out of this world, who was dearer to me, than mine own being in it; what a wound it is to my heart, you that knew him, and know me, will easily believe: but, our Creator's will must be done, and unrepiningly

received by his own creatures, who is the Lord of all Nature, > and of all fortune, when he taketh to himself now one, and then

another, till that expected day, wherein it shall please him to dissolve the whole, and wrap up even the heaven itself as a scroll of parchment! This is the last philosophy that we must

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