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Mysterious round! what skill, what | Or bids you roar, or bids your roarings force divine,
Deep felt, in these appear! a simple train,
Such beauty and beneficence combined; Shade, unperceived, so softening into shade;
And all so forming an harmonious whole; That, as they still succeed, they ravish still.
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
Flings from the sun direct the flaming
Soft roll your incense, herbs, and fruits, and flowers,
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
The long-resounding voice, oft breaking clear,
At solemn pauses, through the swelling bass;
And, as each mingling flame increases each,
In one united ardor rise to heaven.
The prompting seraph, and the poet's lyre,
Still sing the God of seasons, as they roll.
For me, when I forget the darling theme,
Whether the blossom blows, the summer ray
Russets the plain, inspiring autumn gleams,
Or winter rises in the blackening east, Be my tongue mute, my fancy paint no
And, dead to joy, forget my heart to beat!
Should fate command me to the farthest verge Of the green earth, to distant barbarous climes, Rivers unknown to song, where first
the sun Gilds Indian mountains, or his setting beam Flames on the Atlantic isles, - 't is naught to me :
Since God is ever present, ever felt,
And wing my mystic flight to future worlds,
I cheerful will obey; there, with new powers,
Will rising wonders sing: I cannot go Where Universal Love not smiles around, Sustaining all yon orbs, and all their
From seeming evil still educing good, And better thence again, and better still,
In infinite progression. But I lose
SILENT nymph, with curious eye!
Over mead and over wood,
About his checkered sides I wind, And leave his brooks and meads behind,
And groves and grottos where I lay,
Now I gain the mountain's brow;