ON
THE
IMMENSITY
OF
THE
SUPREME
BEING
.
BY
THE
SAME
.
ONCE
more
I
dare
to
rouse
the
sounding
string
THE
POET
OF
MY
GOD
—
Awake
my
glory
,
Awake
my
lute
and
harp
—
myself
shall
wake
,
Soon
as
the
stately
night-exploding
bird
In
lively
lay
sings
welcome
to
the
dawn
.
List
ye
!
how
nature
with
ten
thousand
tongues
Begins
the
grand
thanksgiving
,
Hail
,
all
hail
,
Ye
tenants
of
the
forest
and
the
field
!
My
fellow
subjects
of
th'
eternal
King
,
I
gladly
join
your
Mattins
,
and
with
you
Confess
his
presence
,
and
report
his
praise
.
O
Thou
,
who
or
the
Lambkin
,
or
the
Dove
,
When
offer'd
by
the
lowly
,
meek
,
and
poor
,
Prefer'st
to
Pride's
whole
hecatomb
,
accept
This
mean
Essay
,
nor
from
thy
treasure-house
Of
Glory'
immense
the
Orphan's
mite
exclude
.
What
tho'
th'
Almighty's
regal
throne
be
rais'd
High
o'er
yon
azure
Heaven's
exalted
dome
By
mortal
eye
unkenn'd
—
where
East
nor
West
Nor
South
,
nor
blustering
North
has
breath
to
blow
;
Albeit
He
there
with
Angels
,
and
with
Saints
Hold
conference
,
and
to
his
radiant
host
Ev'n
face
to
face
stand
visibly
confest
:
Yet
know
that
nor
in
Presence
or
in
Power
Shines
He
less
perfect
here
;
'tis
Man's
dim
eye
That
makes
th'
obscurity
.
He
is
the
same
,
Alike
in
all
his
Universe
the
same
.
Whether
the
mind
along
the
spangled
sky
Measures
her
pathless
walk
,
studious
to
view
Thy
works
of
vaster
fabric
,
where
the
Planets
Weave
their
harmonious
rounds
,
their
march
directing
Still
faithful
,
still
inconstant
to
the
Sun
;
Or
where
the
Comet
thro'
space
infinite
(
Tho'
whirling
worlds
oppose
,
and
globes
of
fire
)
Darts
,
like
a
javelin
,
to
his
destin'd
goal
.
Or
where
in
Heaven
above
the
Heaven
of
Heavens
Burn
brighter
Sans
,
and
goodlier
Planets
roll
With
Satellits
more
glorious
—
Thou
art
there
.
Or
whether
on
the
Ocean's
boisterous
back
Thou
ride
triumphant
,
and
with
out-stretch'd
arm
Curb
the
wild
winds
and
discipline
the
billows
,
The
suppliant
Sailor
finds
Thee
there
,
his
chief
,
His
only
help
—
When
Thou
rebuk'st
the
storm
—
It
ceases
—
and
the
vessel
gently
glides
Along
the
glassy
level
of
the
calm
.
O
!
could
I
search
the
bosom
of
the
sea
,
Down
the
great
depth
descending
;
there
thy
works
Would
also
speak
thy
residence
;
and
there
Would
I
thy
servant
,
like
the
still
profound
,
Astonish'd
into
silence
muse
thy
praise
!
Behold
!
behold
!
th'
unplanted
garden
round
Of
vegetable
coral
,
sea-flowers
gay
,
And
shrubs
of
amber
from
the
pearl-pav'd
bottom
Rise
richly
varied
,
where
the
finny
race
In
blithe
security
their
gambols
play
:
While
high
above
their
heads
Leviathan
,
The
terror
and
the
glory
of
the
main
,
His
pastime
takes
with
transport
,
proud
to
see
The
ocean's
vast
dominion
all
his
own
.
Hence
thro'
the
genial
bowels
of
the
earth
Easy
may
fancy
pass
;
till
at
thy
mines
Gani
or
Raolconda
she
arrive
,
And
from
the
adamant's
imperial
blaze
Form
weak
ideas
of
her
Maker's
glory
.
Next
to
Pegu
or
Ceylon
let
me
rove
,
Where
the
rich
ruby
(
deem'd
by
Sages
old
Of
Sovereign
virtue
)
sparkles
ev'n
like
Sirius
,
And
blushes
into
flames
.
Thence
will
I
go
To
undermine
the
treasure-fertile
womb
Of
the
huge
Pyrenean
,
to
detect
The
Agat
and
the
deep-intrenched
gem
Of
kindred
Jasper
—
Nature
in
them
both
Delights
to
play
the
Mimic
on
herself
;
And
in
their
veins
she
oft
pourtrays
the
forms
Of
leaning
hills
,
of
trees
erect
,
and
streams
Now
stealing
softly
on
,
now
thundering
down
In
desperate
cascade
with
flowers
and
beasts
And
all
the
living
landskip
of
the
vale
:
In
vain
thy
pencil
Claudio
,
or
Poussin
,
Or
thine
,
immortal
Guido
,
would
essay
Such
skill
to
imitate
—
it
is
the
hand
Of
God
himself
—
for
God
himself
is
there
.
Hence
with
the
ascending
springs
let
me
advance
Thro'
beds
of
magnets
,
minerals
,
and
spar
,
Up
to
the
mountain's
summit
,
there
t'
indulge
Th'
ambition
of
the
comprehensive
eye
,
That
dares
to
call
th'
Horizon
all
her
own
.
Behold
the
forest
,
and
the
expansive
verdure
Of
yonder
level
lawn
,
whose
smooth-shorn
sod
No
object
interrupts
,
unless
the
oak
His
lordly
head
uprears
,
and
branching
arms
Extends
—
Behold
in
regal
solitude
,
And
pastoral
magnificence
he
stands
So
simple
!
and
so
great
!
the
under-wood
Of
meaner
rank
an
awful
distance
keep
.
Yet
Thou
art
there
,
yet
God
himself
is
there
Ev'n
on
the
bush
(
tho'
not
as
when
to
Moses
He
shone
in
burning
majesty
reveal'd
)
Nathless
conspicuous
in
the
Linnet's
throat
Is
his
unbounded
goodness
—
Thee
her
Maker
,
Thee
her
Preserver
chaunts
she
in
her
song
;
While
all
the
emulative
vocal
tribe
The
grateful
lesson
learn
—
no
other
voice
Is
heard
,
no
other
sound
—
for
in
attention
Buried
,
ev'n
babbling
Echo
bolds
her
peace
.
Now
from
the
plains
,
where
th'
unbounded
prospect
Gives
liberty
her
utmost
scope
to
range
,
Turn
we
to
yon
enclosures
,
where
appears
Chequer'd
variety
in
all
her
forms
,
Which
the
vague
mind
attract
and
still
suspend
With
sweet
perplexity
.
What
are
yon
towers
,
The
work
of
labouring
man
and
clumsy
art
,
Seen
with
the
ring-dove's
nest
—
on
that
tall
beech
Her
pensile
house
the
feather'd
Artist
builds
—
The
rocking
winds
molest
her
not
;
for
see
,
With
such
due
poize
the
wond'rous
fabric's
hung
,
That
,
like
the
compass
in
the
bark
,
it
keeps
True
to
itself
,
and
stedfast
ev'n
in
storms
.
Thou
ideot
that
asserts
,
there
is
no
God
,
View
and
be
dumb
for
ever
—
Go
bid
Vitruvius
or
Palladio
build
The
bee
his
mansion
,
or
the
ant
her
cave
—
Go
call
Correggio
,
or
let
Titian
come
To
paint
the
hawthorn's
bloom
,
or
teach
the
cherry
To
blush
with
just
vermillion
—
hence
away
—
Hence
ye
prophane
!
for
God
himself
is
here
.
Vain
were
th'
attempt
,
and
impious
to
trace
Thro'
all
his
works
th'
Artificer
Divine
—
And
tho'
nor
shining
sun
,
nor
twinkling
star
Bedeck'd
the
crimson
curtains
of
the
sky
;
Tho'
neither
vegetable
,
beast
,
nor
bird
Were
extant
on
the
surface
of
this
ball
,
Nor
lurking
gem
beneath
;
tho'
the
great
sea
Slept
in
profound
stagnation
,
and
the
air
Had
left
no
thunder
to
pronounce
its
maker
;
Yet
man
at
home
,
within
himself
,
might
find
The
Deity
immense
,
and
in
that
frame
So
fearfully
,
so
wonderfully
made
,
See
and
adore
his
providence
and
power
—
I
see
,
and
I
adore
—
O
God
most
bounteous
!
O
infinite
of
Goodness
and
of
Glory
!
The
knee
,
that
thou
hast
shap'd
,
shall
bend
to
Thee
,
The
tongue
,
which
thou
hast
tun'd
,
shall
chaunt
thy
praise
,
And
,
thine
own
image
,
the
immortal
foul
,
Shall
consecrate
herself
to
Thee
for
ever
.