Of contemplation, by no sense of wrong
(Too quick and keen) incited to disdain
Of pity pleading from the heart in vain, -

TO THEE,

TO THEE,

Just God of Christianized Humanity,

Shall praises be poured forth, and thanks ascend, That thou hast brought our warfare to an end, And that we need no second victory!

Blest, above measure blest,

If on thy love our Land her hopes shall rest,
And all the Nations labor to fulfil

Thy law, and live henceforth in peace, in pure good-will.

XLVI.

ODE.

THE MORNING OF THE DAY APPOINTED FOR A GENERAL THANKSGIVING. JANUARY 18; 1816.

I

HAIL, orient Conqueror of gloomy Night!
Thou that canst shed the bliss of gratitude
On hearts howe'er insensible or rude;
Whether thy punctual visitations smite
The haughty towers where monarchs dwell;
Or thou, impartial Sun, with presence bright,

Cheer'st the low threshold of the peasant's cell!
Not unrejoiced I see thee climb the sky

In naked splendor, clear from mist or haze,
Or cloud approaching to divert the rays,
Which even in deepest winter testify
Thy power and majesty,

Dazzling the vision that presumes to gaze.
- Well does thine aspect usher in this Day;
As aptly suits therewith that modest pace
Submitted to the chains

That bind thee to the path which God ordains
That thou shalt trace,

Till, with the heavens and earth, thou pass away
Nor less the stillness of these frosty plains,
Their utter stillness, and the silent grace
Of yon ethereal summits white with snow,
(Whose tranquil pomp and spotless purity
Report of storms gone by

To us who tread below,)

Do with the service of this Day accord.

Divinest Object which the uplifted eye

Of mortal man is suffered to behold;

Thou, who upon those snow-clad Heights hast poured
Meek lustre, nor forget'st the humble Vale;
Thou who dost warm Earth's universal mould,
And for thy bounty wert not unadored

By pious men of old;

Once more, heart-cheering Sun, I bid thee hail! Bright be thy course to-day, let not this promise fail!

II.

Mid the deep quiet of this morning hour, All nature seems to hear me while I speak, By feelings urged that do not vainly seek Apt language, ready as the tuneful notes That stream in blithe succession from the throats Of birds, in leafy bower,

Warbling a farewell to a vernal shower.

— There is a radiant though a short-lived flame,
That burns for Poets in the dawning east ;
And oft my soul hath kindled at the same,
When the captivity of sleep had ceased;
But He who fixed immovably the frame
Of the round world, and built, by laws as strong,
A solid refuge for distress,-

The towers of righteousness,

He knows that from a holier altar came

The quickening spark of this day's sacrifice; Knows that the source is nobler whence doth rise The current of this matin song;

That deeper far it lies.

Than aught dependent on the fickle skies.

III.

Have we not conquered?-by the vengeful sword?

Ah no! by dint of Magnanimity;

That curbed the baser passions, and left free
A loyal band to follow their liege Lord,
Clear-sighted Honor, and his staid Compeers,

Along a track of most unnatural years;
In execution of heroic deeds

Whose memory, spotless as the crystal beads
Of morning dew upon the untrodden meads,
Shall live enrolled above the starry spheres.
He who, in concert with an earthly string,
Of Britain's acts would sing,

He with enraptured voice will tell
Of one whose spirit no reverse could quell;
Of one that 'mid the failing never failed;
Who paints how Britain struggled and prevailed
Shall represent her laboring with an eye

Of circumspect humanity;

Shall show her clothed with strength and skill
All martial duties to fulfil;

Firm as a rock in stationary fight;
In motion rapid as the lightning's gleam;
Fierce as a flood-gate bursting at midnight.
To rouse the wicked from their giddy dream,
Woe, woe to all that face her in the field!
Appalled she may not be, and cannot yield.

IV.

And thus is missed the sole true glory
That can belong to human story!

At which they only shall arrive

Who through the abyss of weakness dive. The very humblest are too proud of heart; And one brief day is rightly set apart For Him who lifteth up and layeth low;

For that Almighty God to whom we owe,
Say not that we have vanquished,

survive.

but that we

V.

How dreadful the dominion of the impure!
Why should the Song be tardy to proclaim
That less than power unbounded could not tame
That soul of Evil, — which, from hell let loose,
Had filled the astonished world with such abuse
As boundless patience only could endure?
-Wide-wasted regions,-cities wrapt in flame,-
Who sees, may lift a streaming eye

To Heaven;-who never saw, may heave a sigh;
But the foundation of our nature shakes,
And with an infinite pain the spirit aches,
When desolated countries, towns on fire,
Are but the avowed attire

Of warfare waged with desperate mind
Against the life of virtue in mankind,
Assaulting without ruth

The citadels of truth;
While the fair gardens of civility,

By ignorance defaced,

By violence laid waste,

Perish without reprieve for flower or tree.

VI.

a distracted will,

A crouching purpose,
Opposed to hopes that battened upon scorn,