The Seasons

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From the Press of C. Whittingham, 1822 - 158 Seiten
 

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Seite 156 - 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 His praise.
Seite 156 - The 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 humid 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. So roll your incense, herbs, and fruits, and flowers, In mingled clouds to Him, whose sun exalts, Whose breath...
Seite 157 - While cloud to cloud returns the solemn hymn. Bleat out afresh, ye hills ; ye mossy rocks Retain the sound : the broad responsive low, Ye valleys raise ; for the Great Shepherd reigns ; And His unsuffering kingdom yet will come. Ye woodlands all, awake : a boundless song Burst from the groves ! and when the restless day, Expiring, lays the warbling world asleep, Sweetest of birds, sweet Philomela, charm The listening shades, and teach the night His praise.
Seite 156 - 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 every creature, hurls the tempest forth, And, as on earth this grateful change revolves, With transport touches all the springs of life.
Seite 132 - Disaster'd stands ; sees other hills ascend, Of unknown joyless brow ; and other scenes, Of horrid prospect, shag the trackless plain : Nor finds the river, nor the forest, hid Beneath the formless wild ; but wanders on From hill to dale, still more and more astray ; Impatient flouncing through the drifted heaps, Stung with the thoughts of home ; the thoughts of home Rush on his nerves, and call their vigour forth In many a vain attempt.
Seite 155 - THESE, as they change, Almighty Father, these, Are but the varied God. The rolling year Is full of Thee. Forth in the pleasing Spring Thy beauty walks, Thy tenderness and love. Wide flush the fields ; the softening air is balm ; Echo the mountains round ; the forest smiles ; And every sense, and every heart, is joy.
Seite 133 - Smooth'd up with snow; and what is land — unknown, What water — of the still unfrozen spring, In the loose marsh...
Seite 155 - But wandering 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...
Seite 9 - From the bent bush, as through the verdant maze Of sweet-briar hedges I pursue my walk; Or taste the smell of dairy ; or ascend Some eminence, AUGUSTA, in thy plains, And see the country, far diffus'd around, One boundless blush, one white-empurpled shower Of mingled blossoms; where the raptur'd eye Hurries from joy to joy...
Seite 125 - SEE, Winter comes to rule the varied year, Sullen and sad, with all his rising train : Vapours, and clouds, and storms. Be these my theme, These ! that exalt the soul to solemn thought, And heavenly musing. Welcome, kindred glooms ! Congenial horrors, hail ! with frequent foot...

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