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REFLECTIONS ON A FUTURE STATE,
FROM A REVIEW OF WINTER.
'Tis done! dread Winter spreads his latest glooms,
Of heaven and earth! awak’ning nature hears
HYMV ON THE SEASONS.
These, as they change, Almighty Father, these,
Mysterious round! what skill, what force divine, Deep felt, in these appear! a simple train, Yet so delightful mix’d, with such kind art, Such beauty and beneficence combin'd; Shade, unperceiv'd, so soft'ning into shade: And all so forming an harmonious whole, That, as they still succeed, they ravish still. But wand'ring oft, with brute unconscious gaze, Man marks not Thee, marks not the mighty hand That, ever busy, wheels the silent spheres; Works in the secret deep: shoots, steaming, thence The fair profusion that o'erspreads the Spring; Flings from the sun direct the flaming day; Feeds ev'ry creature; hurls the tempest forth; And as on earth this grateful change revolves, With transport touches all the springs of life.
Nature attend! join ev'ry living soul Beneath the spacious temple of the sky, In adoration join; and ardent, raise One gen’ral song! To Him, ye vocal gales, Breathe soft, whose Spirit in your freshness breathes: O talk of Him in solitary glooms! Where, o'er the rock, the scarcely waving pine Fills the brown sbade with a religious awe. And ye, whose bolder note is heard afar, Who shake th' astonish'd world, lift high to heav'n Th’impetuous song, and say from whom you rage.
. His praise, ye brooks, attune, ye trembling rills; And let me catch it as I muse along. Ye headlong torrents, rapid and profound; Ye softer floods, that lead the human maze Along the vale; and thou, majestic main, A secret world of wonders in thyself, Sound his stupendous praise, whose greater voice Or bids you roar, or bids your roarings fall. Soft roll your incense, herbs, and fruits, and flow'rs, In mingled clouds to him, whose sun exalts, Whose breath perfumes you, and whose pencil paints. Ye forests, bend; ye harvests, wave to him; Breathe your still song into the reaper's heart, As home he goes beneath the joyous moon. Ye that keep watch in heaven, as earth asleep Unconscious lies, effuse your mildest beams, Ye constellations, while your angels strike, Amid the spangled sky, the silver lyre. Great source of day! best image here below Of thy Creator, ever pouring wide, From world to world, the vital ocean round: On nature write with every beam bis praise. The thunder rolls: be husli’d the prostrate world: While cloud to cloud returns the solemn hymn. Bleat out afresh, ye hills; ye mossy rocks, Retain the sound: the broad responsive lowe,